All I Have to Do
by MyMadness
Summary: Albus' plan to safeguard Severus is demanding, especially for Hermione. Just because she would do anything to win the war doesn't mean she should, does it? 7th yr. AU. Fun cast of thousands. SS/HG MM/MEM Ch. 68. Done. Thank you!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: My other story is more along the lines of humor. Bear with me while I figure out how serious this will be.**

"He almost killed you, boy. Lie still," Poppy insisted.

"I wish he had," the potions master groaned. "Just give me something for the pain, Poppy." As she started to turn, he managed to grab her sleeve. "Maybe give me _**too**_ much. You could finish the job. As a favor."

"I'll pretend you are kidding, Severus." And as the words settled on him, that there would be no end today, he set his teeth and turned his head from her. "You know the headmaster wants you not only alive, but awake so you can talk to him," he heard her say.

"There's nothing to tell. The Dark Lord is suspicious. He doesn't believe I'm loyal. Save me today, if it pleases our Headmaster...." he said trailing off. He pulled at his chest then in desperation, as if doing so could relieve the agony the mended bones caused him. "But you'll be putting me in the ground before long," he finally managed to say.

His eyes were tightly shut now with the pain, and Poppy hurried away to her store of supplies. She grabbed one bottle and then considering, she grabbed another. "I'll let him sleep at least," she sighed.

Lifting his head, she spilled the contents of one bottle down his throat in parts. As the relief hit him, much of his old voice returned, "The whole bottle tonight, Poppy? Either I am truly a mess or you are going soft."

"Both," the old witch told him firmly. And then she unstoppered the second bottle and held it up for him. "And you'll get your sleep without having to give your report. I'll tell the Headmaster what you told me. You'll wake in a day's time. You'll feel much better for it, I wager."

He raised his head a bit to meet the bottle and gulped down the bitter potion. Finishing with a sigh, he collapsed back into the pillow and was asleep.

Poppy nearly jumped when she heard the door in the deserted Infirmary swing open. She fisted her hands nervously in her apron front before steeling herself to talk with the headmaster.

"Your patient, Madam Pomfrey?" Albus inquired tiredly.

"He is unconscious, Headmaster. I... I gave him a very strong sedative."

He did not reprimand her, nor did he make any query, he only raised a single eyebrow. "He told me this punishment was because Voldemort does not trust him," the Matron continued. Without a word, Albus started for Severus' bedside, but Poppy stopped him with light fingers on his sleeve. "Professor, he asked me to just let him die. Isn't there something we can do? Some way to help him?"

Albus held his breath as he looked at his former student lying there. He shook his head seeing the damage done to him.

"Severus," he whispered, "we are so close. I can't let you quit now. Sleep for now, boy. I have an idea. I had hoped not to do this... but we will begin tonight."


	2. Chapter 2

The Headmaster found her in the halls alone. Ruminating on the newest lessons she had read, she walked distractedly down the corridor with her head down. He held a hand up silently and she stopped to look up finally into his watery blue eyes.

"Miss Granger, if you would please come with me," and she knew it was, of course, something she would do. Always with Professor Dumbledore there was the illusion of free will. "Please," he would say. And although everything was posed as a question or a request, you still knew what he wanted was what you would always do. So she followed him down the corridors and through the doors that led to the Infirmary. Finally, they stopped at their destination, a small private room that occupied the south-west corner of the Matron's domain.

There in a bed lay an unconscious Professor Snape. One side of his face was badly swollen and his torn clothes lay on the floor by his bedside.

"He doesn't hold Voldemort's trust anymore, Miss Granger, and he has suffered for it," the headmaster said in a low voice. "So much depends on him. But unless he has Voldemort's confidence, all is lost."

She clutched her school books to her chest and stared at the man in the bed. "You need something to show Voldemort that the professor is not aligned with the Order. Is that what you are saying, sir?"

"Yes. We need something convincing. A small act will be too little too late."

"You believe I am part of the answer, Professor."

She hoped he would drop the pretense and explain it to her. Instead he asked her, "You are not romantically involved right now, Hermione? Things did not work out with Mr. Krum or Mr. Weasley, I believe."

"What are you suggesting, Headmaster? There is no one I am seeing. So, I am to pretend I'm having an affair with Professor Snape? Would that really convince Voldemort and the Death Eaters that Professor Snape was not working with you or the Order?

"If it was truly believed that you and he were involved... If that involvement was seen to remove you from Mr. Potter's side and rob the Order of your talents."

"Surely, they would suspect it was only a ploy."

"Yes, they might," he said as he turned for the door. Stopping, he fixed her with heavy eyes. "Without something that swayed their doubts, it would be easy for them to see it as a ploy. And that would not help Professor Snape at all. In fact, it would seal his fate. And ours with him, my girl. Right now as much hinges on him as anyone. These are our final hours, Hermione, and there are no guarantees. Good does not always prevail." Holding her gaze, he seemed to watch the wheels turning in her head. And once confident that she would tackle this problem he had given her, he sighed. Hands clasped in front of him, he nodded sadly and left her.

She groaned and turned back to the man that lay in the bed. She finally loosened her grip on her books and lay them on her satchel. "He wants me to help you," she said to the still form that lay there. "And you'll not thank me for that." She forsook the single chair that was in the room and instead crawled up into the wide stone window ledge. Looking out into the night she let the thoughts form, move, and sort in her head the way they always did. If she turned her mind to any problem and released all her other thoughts, she could feel things run toward a solution.

Closing her eyes, she slowly lowered her head to her knees and lost herself to the workings of her mind. It felt as if a series of locks' tumblers were falling into place. And with a final click, she knew she had the answer. Raising her head from her knees, she spared her professor one more glance. "I will be as good as alone in this." Her hands rubbed at her head in frustration. "I'll move my parents. Get them out of the country. There will be trouble from _**both**_ sides," she sighed.

She eased herself down from where she sat and walked a few steps closer to his bedside. "And I'll end up like you," she told the sleeping man. "Hated. No friends. Alone. Well, almost alone." She shook her head, feeling the lateness of the hour. "I'm tired of this fight already, I don't know how you've done this so long. We'll convince Voldemort that he has us both," she said with as much conviction as she could muster. "And you will be in place to turn the final battle to our advantage. And all I have to do is... " she blew out a breath and tried to settle her nerves. "All I have to do..." she began again. She sat down heavily in the chair as her legs began to weaken and her stomach left her. "But it's the difference between winning and losing. So, I'll do it."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Disclaimer... I own none of this. But I do obsess over it a great deal. I am hoping that I found the right tone here. And struck the right balance.  
**

**Thank you, Sel...**

* * *

_Hermione Granger,_ Severus thought sourly as he surveyed the students at their potions benches. He was accustomed to reading people, and the girl was definitely acting out of character. She was being quiet and oddly hesitant. Distracted. The girl was trying not to look at him, and then she would steal a glance. And this was at least the third time since his recovery he had seen her behave like this. _Had it been longer?_ he asked himself. _Possibly_, he conceded. He'd been pushed so hard lately, he was losing his edge.

_A crush?_ _Unlikely_, he decided. Those came on more gradually. He was used to the signs. The chit is hiding something though, he concluded as he walked the rows between the students. He paused behind her. _Yes,_ he decided as he saw her tense her shoulders. Hiding something that had to do with _**him**_.

Snapping his teaching robes as he moved suddenly for the front of the room, he called for the students to leave their results on his desk. His mouth twitched into a smile at the chorus of groans that rose up from the seventh years.

He seated himself at his desk and watched the progression towards him. Sample potions were placed on his desk and without exception, the students then wasted no time in making for the exit. Arms folded, he surreptitiously watched one Gryffindor's progress for the door. Then, with delight, he stopped her. He called out in a booming voice, "MISS GRANGER! You need to remain after!" They were quickly left alone.

"You'd best tell me what you are scheming," he told her as he rose from behind his desk.

"Nothing, sir."

"I hate to bother the Headmaster with things I KNOW I can solve on my own," he said menacingly.

Her eyes snapped to his and held firmly at the mention of the Headmaster. Even with no words, she had revealed enough.

_What was __**Albus**__ up to?_ Severus wondered, as he moved to pace behind the girl.

"I do not think it is proper that you should conspire with the Headmaster to hide information from your professor, do you?" he continued.

"It's not my place..."

"Good," he said ominously from behind her. "Then we are agreed. It is not your place to hide information that involves me...."

As he appeared in front of her suddenly, she realized what he meant to do. His eyes bore into hers and he fingered his wand as he whispered, "Legilimens..."

She consciously put up no barriers, and so he felt near pulled into the race of images. The old man conferring with her, the worried looks. He saw himself unconscious in Poppy's care after returning from his last call before the Dark Lord. The girl was there in the shadows as Albus stepped to him, passed a wand over his midsection, and extracted a blue essence. The Headmaster then bottled it and turned from his bedside without hesitation. As the two left him, it was Miss Granger who spared him a worried backwards glance. Now her mind showed him a medical procedure she had endured. Here her mind balked, but he pressed on. She was flat on her back and a black clad woman he did not recognize, moved around Hermione, holding the same vial Dumbledore had filled at Severus' bedside. A look of pain passed over her face as she lay there and she tried not to cry out... Severus backed away now. Withdrew from her mind and took steps to distance himself from her and what she had shown him.

"Albus took my..." he trailed off.

"It isn't semen, strictly speaking, but genetically..." Even frightened she sounded somewhat pedantic, he thought as he held up a hand to forestall more words from her.

"And he had it implanted in you?" he asked. Fatigue and disbelief made him sound dangerously detached.

She nodded solemnly, holding his eyes.

"And?" he asked quietly. "It took?"

"Yes. I'm pregnant." And she amazed herself that she did not stumble on the words she had never said before.

"Why?" he asked in a vacant voice, shaking his head slowly.

"The Headmaster wants to help you prove to Voldemort that you are not aligned with the Order," she whispered furiously.

"Our puppet master never tires of pulling the strings," he said facetiously. His voice drifted off and his eyes seemed to fall unfocused onto the far wall. Suddenly then, his mood snapped and his eyes lit onto her, "Get rid of it," he breathed angrily. "Find some Muggle, if a healer won't do it. Take my money for pity's sake and have the disastrous cells removed before they continue to grow."

"Is that really how you feel?" she asked, analytically rather than emotionally.

"I don't feel much of anything anymore," he said bitterly. He took a step backwards, and she impulsively grabbed the back of his robes as he turned to retreat through the classroom's rear door. "Twenty-five points from....." he began to call out as he sensed her hand on him. Finally looking at her now, he registered the confusion in her eyes and stopped. "Presumptuous. Irrational child," he spat. But his contempt gave way to something close to pity then. "So damned giving with your trust. You have no idea what you have done."

"This is suppose to make your job easier. To show _**him**_ that you are not afraid to.... Take what you want," she explained a mite sheepishly. "That you can act with impunity amidst the Order. And that one third of the golden trio," she said this with the disdain he normally did. "Is in your pocket."

"In my pocket? The world will more likely picture you in my bed," he whispered with cruel emphasis. His tone produced a blush from her, as he had known it would. "My God, Albus is mad. How can he believe that what I need to cement my standing is a blushing and virginal ..._**and pregnant**_...what?! What are you to be?" He paused then and pushing aside a flap of her robe with his wand, he examined her legs clinically. "My new bedwarmer?" he asked.

Although she had steeled herself, he still saw her flinch. He directed all his outrage at her, choosing to quickly enlighten her to what this plan could mean. "Oh, you picture yourself more important than that," he said cruelly. "I shall make you chief among the sluts I take to bed then," he uttered in slick tones, his breath hot near her ear.

She backed away from him slowly, worrying that she had made her life's greatest mistake.

_If nothing else, she will reconsider where her Gryffindor courage has gotten her, _he thought as he leaned hard against his desk, dropped his head, and closed his eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

The next evening he found her outside the library. It was the beginning of term, but he knew she would be there when all the other students were shunning study for social activities.

She was pale and her eyes were sunken, he noted. _Not sleeping and throwing up a great deal, no doubt,_ thought a detached Severus.

"Come along, Miss Granger," she heard him say before she even saw him.

"Where are we going, Sir?" she asked.

"Doesn't matter, does it? You would follow me anywhere," he paused his long strides and turned to watch her catch up. "I'm right, aren't I? You would follow me anywhere. For the good of the Order," he said mockingly.

"Of course I trust your judgment, Sir," she shot back.

"Insolence? Miss Granger?" he asked with a quirked eyebrow.

"Perhaps I was infused with it, Sir..... It could be something from the genetic material I received as part of the impregnation."

He looked at her more critically now, and registered that she _**had**_ changed recently. Noticeably older now, more experienced, and certainly wiser than her peers, she knew when she could press her advantage... even with him. She did not lack for courage, he decided. But he laughed inside at the sight of her pulling herself up to her full (and decidedly lacking) height.

There was a lot of fight in her. Determination that did not waver. She had that desire to take on the world that was so common in the young, and no way to do it. Until Albus had snared her in some daft plan.

And now he was snared as well. _Determination and the drive to fight?_ he thought to himself. Things he had been without lately. Is that what Albus had seen? Not just that he was in danger of losing the Dark Lord's trust, but that he was in danger of losing the will to finish this war? So, he had been used to inject into her the child. And Albus hoped she could instill in him the fight to see this through?

_Well, to the hell with that, _he thought shaking his head. And then he realized he was still standing in the hallway outside the Headmaster's office staring at the little chit. And that she was staring at him.

He stepped past her to the entrance of the Headmaster's office, and uttered the inane candy-referenced password with a note of disdain. He motioned for her to proceed him up the stairs and she did, feeling his eyes on her back.

The headmaster raised his head and his eyes were vaguely unfocused as the pair came closer. Hours bent over the parchments on his desk had left him blurry-eyed.

"You've gone too far, Albus," Snape said with venom.

"What is it, Severus?" the old mage asked weakly.

"This. Your child incubator. Your latest sacrifice," he hissed as he took Hermione by the arm and brought her ungently to the fore.

"Severus," the old man tried. "We are near the end, but all of our work will be for naught if we can not keep you firmly placed with Voldemort. What I've done, had to be done. Miss Granger is of age. And as an adult, she has considered this. She has _**volunteered**_ to take this on."

"You are going to tell me this was _**her**_ idea? There is no mistaking this. You have twisted her to your will. Can't you even admit that?" he implored the older man. In frustration with the Headmaster, he told him, "Get Minerva!"

"It's done, Severus. You'll _**see**_ the sense of it, if you only try," Albus insisted. "Bind her to you to keep your secrets. Let her be a conduit for information in darker times."

"This is a mistake, old man," the younger wizard said.

Settling in to be ignored, Hermione sank into a chair. Severus crossed in large strides to the fireplace, roughly grabbing Floo powder to call for Minerva. The edge to his voice brought the Deputy quickly.

"Albus? What is it?" Minerva said anxiously as she stepped from the Floo.

Albus managed only a sigh. "Severus, requests your involvement."

"Miss Granger is pregnant, Minerva. Did you know that?" Severus announced without preamble.

"Good God, no," the older woman said with a sad shake to her head. After a long pause she managed, "What are we to do, Hermione? The Board will not let you stay here once they know. That is.... if you intend to continue the pregnancy."

"I do," Hermione managed solemnly.

"And the father?" Minerva pressed gently, standing close to Hermione now.

"Strange situation, actually," Severus chimed in with his dark appreciation for the absurd.

"Please, Severus. Let the girl talk. And in fact, unless there is a Slytherin involved, I would ask that you _**leave**_," Minerva said bitterly.

"It seems I should stay then," he answered seeming oddly pleased.

"Who is the father?" Minerva asked Hermione, trying to ignore Severus.

"I am," came the potion master's voice from behind her.

Minerva whirled around and slapped him across the cheek before either of them knew what she had done. It was not that the old witch necessarily thought Severus capable of such a thing, but the perverse way he delighted in the telling of the story provoked her emotional response. She was at her wit's end with the man and his actions lately.

Hermione jumped in her chair she was so startled, but Severus merely smiled as he passed a hand over the reddened spot on his face.

Dumbledore was finally roused from his inaction.

"Minerva," the old man called out, rising from his chair. "He didn't lay a hand on her. You need to understand," he tried. But the witch's eyes burned with fury. "There is magic behind this and things were done without Severus' consent. The last time he was laid low from a Death Eater summons, I extracted genetic material from him. It was used to make Miss Granger pregnant as a means of restoring Voldemort's trust in him."

Her mouth agape, the older witch began to pace. She turned to her old friend and told him simply rather than scathingly, "You have taken _**incredible**_ liberties, Albus. Severus could have you prosecuted for this." She stopped her pacing and gingerly lowered herself into a chair. Then turning her head, she called out to the potions master, "I am sorry, Severus."

He simply nodded in reply, the contentious spirit gone from him.

"I know we talked of ways to strengthen Severus' shaky position with Voldemort, but Albus....this is untenable!" she told him angrily. Distractedly, she then turned her attention to the student beside her. "Hermione, this should not have been. You need to consider how dangerous this is for you. And a child... at your age, Hermione? That is not a decision to make lightly."

"I have not made this decision lightly, Professor," Hermione insisted. "And I want to continue with the plan. I believe it will work and that makes it worth doing. Things need to change for Professor Snape or he won't be safe. If he is seen as having taken up with me, no one will think the headmaster guides him. I can work with him..." Here Snape openly snorted from his post a few feet away. But Hermione continued undeterred. "I will help Harry without anyone's notice, as I will no longer be a student. And, I will report back to the Order with the information the professor brings me..."

"No one else must know of this arrangement," Dumbledore commanded as he regained more of his old self. "If Miss Granger is satisfied with how the plan is progressing and is willing and able to continue, then we continue. When it comes time to reveal her pregnancy there will be more to be done."

"And when there is scrutiny applied to this scheme, Albus, what then?" Severus argued. "You have let her martyr herself for nothing because the lack of a relationship is transparent."

"If you need to pass for a couple and you fear your playacting skills will not suffice, than I suggest some practice is in order. I am trying to save your life, Severus," Albus stated sharply. "Can't you agree to THAT?!"

"As it serves you, Headmaster," Snape said formally and all too sarcastically. He bowed and left abruptly.

"He doesn't CARE if he lives through this?" Hermione asked once the door closed behind him.

"He doesn't expect that he will, girl. He believes himself a tool whose usefulness will end... and soon," Minerva said sadly. Minerva stood and motioned for Hermione to get up and walk for the door. Without a word to the headmaster, they departed together.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Disclaimer... I don't own a thing. And if the economy keeps going this way, I will own even less! This is one big fat chapter that I have felt compelled to put up even though I am not sure about it all. Rather than weigh every statement our delightful pair makes to one another one MORE time, I am putting it here for you to do so. I have enjoyed all my reviews. And I am very appreciative of the subscriptions. Thanks. :)**

**If I stray here from what constitutes T appropriate material, do tell me. A note to the squeamish: A mention of the bible, beds, and turkey basters and sperm lie ahead. **

* * *

Hermione remained more alert now on her evening walks back to Gryffindor tower. And so she was able to greet him two days later before he even opened his mouth to speak to her.

"Good Evening, Professor," she said neutrally.

"A word, if you please, Miss Granger," and he motioned the way down a dim corridor.

He held the door for her at an empty classroom and she walked in without hesitation.

"I take it you have not come to your senses about this scheme?" he asked.

"By which you mean, _**abandoning**_ the idea?" she asked a bit harshly.

"Claws in, woman," he told her as he began to pace. "I did not expect anything so reasonable anyway."

She had no answer for him, and so she just followed his nervous pacing with her eyes.

He stopped finally and quirked an eyebrow at her. "I will not allow you to be the reason I am caught out by the Dark Lord. And I do not need another soul on my conscience. So, it may be prudent... as people will soon assume that our knowledge of one another is _**biblical**_ that we...." he started, but faltered.

"... get to know each other better?" she supplied.

"God forbid," he said in a pained way that made her think he might possess a sense of humor after all. "But perhaps, we should learn to spend time together in a manner which passes for ...comfortable," he said grinding out the last word with distaste.

"Indeed," she said with a suppressed smile.

_Is she mocking me?_ he wondered as he cocked his head to stare at her. But the smile she could no longer contain was so guileless, and he was so sullen, that he decided against expending the energy taking offense would require. She seemed to fall quite easily into her new role, whereas he could not. Still, he could not trust her - despite trusting her intentions.

"Our interactions... they are not for the amusement of your friends," he warned. "There will be no stories told. There will be no girlish gossip about me, what I say, or what I do."

"Of course. I understand," she assured him.

"Swear it," he insisted harshly. "Take an oath."

Drawing her wand, she did so. He gauged her as she spoke. She did not dodge or duck her oath; her words came pitifully easily, he noted. _Perhaps I am just __**that**__ jaded_, he thought,_ that I would be amazed_.

Quietly, he told her, "I will meet you at the Hogwarts gate tomorrow at 8 in the evening." She nodded silently, not willing to open her mouth for fear a hundred questions would pop out. Things like: Where are we going? What if I am caught out? How will I get back to my dormitory after curfew?.. Her pale confusion, seemed to relay her words to him. He would spare her little sympathy and give little comfort. But he did offer up what sounded like words spoken by one doomed soul for another. "You will soon wonder what is the worst of it. The burden you harbor in you," he said with a motion toward her belly. "Or the one you have taken on your shoulders." And after a strange pause, he left her.

***

When she saw him nearly to the gate the following evening, she reversed her disillusionment charm and stepped from her hiding place behind the low stone wall.

"Some sense in you, I see," he said and he quickly closed on her. The speed of his movements surprised her. Before she knew what to expect, he had taken her by the arm and pulled her close to Apparate jointly.

She heard the crack of Reapparition and knew the ground should be there, but she could not seem to find a purchase. She stumbled with the disorientation this type of travel always brought her. This time was worse, however, with the burden of the recent nausea and the abruptness with which Snape had departed with her.

She realized he had a hold of her and that he was the only reason she had not landed on her face. She tried to take steps forward without even knowing which way that was. Her twirling mind felt she should show him she was not weak or dependent.

He let out a little chuckle that was not unkind and reached his other hand forward to catch her around the waist. "We'll walk on when you look a little better," he told her flatly.

"I'm sorry." she managed focusing on the slow, full breaths that she had been accustomed to using when nausea had struck recently.

"You do not lack for temerity," he admitted sounding amused.

She groaned and shook her head.

"I have heard it is a much more difficult thing, Apparating, for those in your condition," he explained.

"A moment of preparation might not hurt on the way back," she accused. "If you give me a moment to focus on readying my stomach, I can try not to decorate your shoes with Hogwarts' fine cuisine whenever we Apparate."

"That sounds like a bargain I would be wise to accept," he answered.

Her breathing was much more normal now and her weight was not dependent on him any longer it seemed.

She raised her eyes to him and told him, "I am much better," and then managing a smile, she said, "Lead on?"

They seemed to be in the lot of a dilapidated building and she could not imagine where they were going. It was a muggle town, she quickly surmised. She walked beside him out of the dark lot they had appeared in and into the glow of the street lights. They continued in silence even as he stopped and reached for the door of the pub. He found a booth he liked toward the back and sat himself so that he could keep an eye on the door. They sat across from one another at a rough, marked table.

She realized she had been fidgeting when he demanded of her, "Give me your hands." His firm hands then completely encompassed both of hers. He seemed to examine them, clinically. Finally, he raised a single hand to her face and heard her try to stifle the sharp intake of breath that heralded her surprise. "Shhhh," he commanded and closed his eyes, his hand still traveling her face as if to map it. And suddenly her hand rose to hold his, and she pressed his palm to her lips. Slowly, he opened his eyes, "A lover's kiss?" he questioned in a harsh whisper.

"A sign of intimacy," she agreed quietly, looking up at him nervously. "I remember reading about the practice in a book on..." As he took up her other hand and considered it, she lost the rest of her thought. He held her eyes as he belabored her hand's course towards his lips.

"Intimacy," he warned. "Rather than _**signs of intimacy,**_ will be quite another thing to fake."

He released her hand quickly then and took up his mead. She turned her attention to her dessert. Finally, she relaxed enough to talk with him in the way they were expected to. In a testing manner, she asked him what he thought of the latest articles in _The Potioneer's Journal, _only to have him say, "Do you really think that is a subject lovers would cover?"

"You first then," she suggested with bravado.

"Oh, touche'," he said raising his glass to salute her. "Perhaps, if we scour this town we'll find a bookstore where they would sell us an instructive tome. _Feigned Love Affairs for the Unwilling and the Uninitiated_."

They sat in silence then for nearly 10 minutes. Finally, she looked up at him and asked, "Have you heard the one about the two Wizards who brought a chicken into a bar?" Encouraged by having at least rendered him stunned-looking, she continued to tell him jokes. She marveled at his ability to either humorlessly supply the punch line or to remain stony faced upon hearing it. When he finally did smile, it was only at her frustration in being unable to make him laugh. She should have felt thwarted, but she was beginning to enjoy the exercise.

"A brain walked into a bar and asked for a beer," Hermione told him. "The barman looked at him," she continued, despite the disconcerting shaking of his head. "And told him, 'Sorry, I can't serve you.' 'Why? asked the brain..."

"You are COMPLETELY out of your head," Severus said, cutting her off.

Laughing now, she told him, "That's not how it goes, it's 'Because, you are ALREADY out of your head.'"

"Oh, I'm sorry. You thought I was giving you the punch line?" he said with a smirk. He picked up his beer and drained it to keep from showing her his enjoyment.

They stood to leave and he paused for her, extended a hand to help her on with her jacket. Not a profound gesture, she decided. One that would have seemed familiar if not for the way his eyes seemed frozen and far away. His eyebrows were unnaturally high as if he was considering these events rather than living them. Once outside she stopped, looked up to the clear sky that spoke of a cold night. Without thinking she rubbed her arms and stood staring at the stars.

"Here," she heard him say.

Puzzled, she turned to look at him. He held one arm out toward her mechanically. And just as stiffly, he used the other to hold open the vastness of his coat. Cautiously, she stepped to him. And cautiously, she stood inside the shelter he offered. Her mind was spinning, trying to decide what was happening. It seemed so foreign and so surreal, but she would not question him. He was on his own journey tonight, it seemed. They were together and still very much alone.

"Warm enough to walk on?" he asked as his hand tentatively stroked down her back. She willed herself not to flinch, but did not manage it. "Still cold?" he asked almost politely. "Or merely repulsed," he asked in a now biting tone in response to her shudder.

She stepped back from him, as he expected she would. But she astonished him then. She took up his hand as if to warm it, kissed the knuckles, and told him firmly, "Just surprised. And... unaccustomed to being out with a man. That's all. I'm just some pitiable girl who has spent more time reading about these situations than being in them."

"It's late," he merely said. They both returned their hands to their pockets and walked across the street where there was an abandoned building from which they could Apparate.

***

"Off with you then," he said as they entered the castle using a doorway near the dungeons. He pushed his chin out in the direction of the Gryffindor tower.

"Tomorrow's Saturday. I thought I could...."

"Stay out late? Raid the kitchens? Do what?" he asked sardonically.

"Stay up with you," she told him simply.

"You mean _down_ with me? In the dungeons? Naughty," he growled.

"Don't tease..." she said weakly.

"Yes, well, what you are trying VERY hard not to say, is you thought we might as well get _**closer**_ still." He looked at her as she steadily returned his stare. She was leaned against the wall in a posture that did not remind him at all of the girl he had known. Her muggle clothing was neither prim nor revealing. Rather it and her manner spoke of a confidence she had no business feeling in this situation, he thought. His better judgment told him to send her away, to retain the walls he had so tirelessly erected. But then he decided he could let her stay a while. He told himself he rather enjoyed this little game of theirs, and his amusements were few and far between. "Follow me, then, Braveheart. Quietly, I'd rather not get fired by the Board of Directors before it's time. One tantalizing sip of firewhiskey for you, one glimpse of my lair to feed your girlish fantasies ... then off with you to your teddy bears."

"You oughtn't say things like that."

""What," he said amused, as he unwarded his door and rushed her through it. "the firewhiskey or the girlish fantasies?"

"Well, yes, the girlish fantasies and the part about the teddy bears. It will only make it more difficult."

"I don't know that _**that**_ is possible," he groaned. He rounded the edge of his settee and took up his seat in front of the fire. Gingerly, she joined him.

"Where's your whiskey?" she prompted quietly, "I'll pour you one."

"There," he merely said, pointing to the cabinet that stood in the corner. As she crossed the small room and found the decanter and the glasses, he sighed heavily behind his raised hands. She returned to him with two small glasses, his half filled with whiskey and hers with water. She had to awkwardly step around his now extended legs.

"Here you go," she said consciously biting back the word "sir" for the hundredth time that evening. They sat in silence then on the settee, staring into the fire.

He considered her surreptitiously. He knew he should kick her out. It was the vow that had made the difference, he conceded. He would not even converse alone with her - Dumbledore, Voldemort and the threat of Death be damned - if not for the vow he had made her swear. It was an odd thing for him to know that he could ... relax a little in another's presence. There was a strange, unfamiliar calm that crept into him at the idea of letting down his guard just a little, at the unfamiliar idea of not being alone. But was he any better than Dumbledore if he treated her as it benefited him? If he treated **_her_** as a tool?

She looked at him, but he would say nothing, would make no move toward her. She stood finally and he was relieved, believing she meant to end the evening. But then she walked not for the exit but the door framed in book shelves to the right of the fire.

"Your bedroom, is it through here?"

"No, that leads to my office and the classroom beyond. That would be the best way to return to your room actually," he told her firmly, leaving no doubt that he felt she should leave.

She turned from that door and walked to the one in the opposite wall. She paused only a moment before opening it. Seeing his bed, she continued through, disappearing from his sight. With a tired groan, he pulled himself to his feet. He returned the glasses to the tray on the counter where a house elf would collect them come morning. Pinching the bridge of his nose quickly, he silently damned Albus Dumbledore and then walked through his bedroom door.

The candles burned dimly, providing enough light to reveal a long lump in his bed. It was too much to hope, he chided himself, that it was a displaced series of pillows.

"What are the chances you will get up and do the right thing?" he asked tiredly.

"I'm past trying to figure out what _**that**_ might be, actually," she said sounding more disheartened than her age should allow.

"So, you might be to the point that you admit you do not always know what is right. Well, this IS a historic evening," he mused.

She sighed and sat up, thankfully bringing the covers with her. "I do NOT claim to always know the right thing to do. I haven't known what the hell I was doing until I was half way done for most of the past 6 years," she confessed. "It has been a never ending stream of madness from MY point of view. I have only tried to protect the people I cared about and ... do what was right.

"And that was how he got you. That's why YOU are the one in this bed and no other woman," Severus said considering his own statement.

"You are saying I am malleable. And gullible?" she objected.

"Oh, no," he said with sarcasm. "Let's call it 'pure of heart,' shall we? Don't fault yourself. Where Dumbledore is concerned most people are malleable. Thank God, Weasley can't bear fruit or I'd be staring at his lovely face right now." He sank down onto the bed as he finished his tirade. His back was to her now.

With a groan he got back up and stalked off to the bathroom, dowsing the lights as he went. He offered no explantation and it wasn't until she heard the water running that she realized he was showering and would not be right back.

She had fallen asleep, she realized, when the light coming from the opening bathroom door woke her. He must have been standing in the door way considering her as she lay in the light from the door. His shadow fell across her. Finally, it moved. He turned the bathroom light off and she heard his footfalls cross the room until he was on the far side of the bed. She heard him toss something soft like a towel into the corner and she chuckled thinking how typically male that gesture was.

"It had to be you. I see that now," he said with exhaustion as he pulled back the covers and got into the bed. "Dumbledore couldn't have gotten Tonks or some other female Order member. The Dark Lord would suspect it was a trick. You? It's believable that I could seduce you because of your youth or that you could have formed one of those annoying crushes and that I acted on it. And you are a larger prize than just another Order member. You are so deliciously close to Potter. You know what Potter thinks, if only because you are usually the one thinking for him."

"So, you agree this was a good idea?" she said quietly in his direction, unable to see him.

"No! This is lunacy. If my standing as a double agent is in jeopardy, so be it," he grumbled. "I've known my usefulness would come to end. To potentially sacrifice you is unconscionable."

"I know it is a risk. But I did consider it. This is not something I did mindlessly. I am not some little wind up doll that does exactly what I am told. I knew the headmaster hadn't run this by anyone else in the Order. I knew he hadn't even told McGonagall. I could have just mentioned it to her and she would have objected to the whole scheme. It all would have been made impossible."

"So, in your well-ordered mind," he said with his usual sarcasm, "you think this will work?" HE rolled over to face her, as if he could see her.

"It will buy you time. It will stop Voldemort from thinking you are working for Dumbledore. It will make everyone think you're the reason I leave school when I do, and they will think I am no longer able to help the Order and Harry. There will be a big show of my being disgraced and then I will disappear. And you can feed Voldemort tidbits and say they come from me."

"Yes, that is the _**plan**_," and he blew out a breath. "But a million things could go wrong. And even if everything goes right, you will be an 18 year old mother raising a dead, very hated man's child."

"He or she is going to be an amazing child."

"Oh Merlin, you are romanticizing this," he accused.

"No. If I was pregnant with Ron Weasley's child and said the same thing, that would likely smack of romanticism. I am being coldly rational."

"Ah. Perhaps it was your plan all along then," he managed with a modicum of amusement. "You bewitch the old codger into stealing my highly prized sperm just so you could have an uber-child?"

"Yes. That was it exactly," she agreed sarcastically and stifled a yawn. After a stretch of uncomfortable silence, she whispered, "Now what?"

"Now I go to sleep."

"Would it upset you.... if I was to touch you."

"You are intent on romanticizing our situation," he complained.

Warily, she moved closer to him. "No. I'm experimenting, perhaps. Seeing what is easily comfortable." And she laid a testing hand on his arm where it rested above the covers. "Do things seem surreal to you?"

"I think we can safely say that, yes. You, a student, are in my bed. You are pregnant, by me, in a manner of speaking. But, rather than having sex with you, a naked willing woman, I have talked you into exhaustion."

"Usually, I talk away _**my**_ prospects," she murmured.

"And even if you were not my student, having sex with a pregnant virgin would prove more ... daunting than I care to admit."

"It is not as if I am a virgin on purpose," she protested.

"That promises to be an interesting line of conversation. Despite the hour, I beg you, DO continue to explain the concept of ACCIDENTAL virginity."

"I had planned on doing something about it."

"You, being very organized about these things, had perhaps written out 'Lose Virginity' in your daily planner?" he drawled wearily.

"No. I just thought I could find someone..."

"The mythical Mister Right," he sneered.

"I knew Mister Right was extremely unlikely," she said dourly. "I would have been content with Mister Detached and Confidential."

"Ah, so the magical turkey baster filled with my prized semen, was not actually your first choice... even after Mister Right?" he said with an affected tone of wonder.

"It made for a rather unpleasant first time," she admitted seriously. "But you are right, I suppose we could say, therefore, that I am not technically a virgin."

"Yes, the upside to the whole story is that you will only have a turkey baster to compare me to. This bodes well for me should we ever actually become intimate rather than just _**play**_ at it. You will think me amazing... should I ever deign to bed you."

"Is that why we are in complete darkness," she insisted. "Because 'deigning to bed' me is so unthinkable... you thought it would help if you didn't have to see me?

"Go to sleep. Even when you are wrong, you are insufferable," he said, but it lacked any real bite.

"I'll shut up..." she began.

"Prove it," he implored her.

Undeterred, she continued, "I'll shut up after I ask you something. Those moments tonight when you acted as if things, intimate things, were something that needed to be checked off someone's agenda... like when you touched me or tried to warm me... What was that?"

"Might be memories. Or fantasies. Things from a previous life. I don't know. And it does no good to dwell, I am sure." And he rolled away from her, shaking her grasp loose from his arm.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: This is harder than I thought! But fun to work on! I hope you enjoy it. Thanks, Sel.

* * *

Come morning she groaned. Wincing at the idea of throwing up on Snape's floor, she focused her energies on telling her stomach to lie still. _Crackers_, she thought.

"You look like you have a hang over," he said as he passed a hand over his face to rouse himself.

"The nine month variety," she quipped. "Some crackers would settle my stomach. Do you have any handy?" she asked sheepishly.

Rather than wait for an answer, she bent over and began rummaging on the floor for her clothes. Blatantly mesmerized, he admired her back while she did. She pulled her shirt on over her head, sans bra. And when she stood to pull on her panties, he eyed her bottom appreciatively. She turned a bit as she worked to step into her pants and he looked at the hint of a belly. _Not showing_, he thought, _but how far along? 10 weeks?_ She finished pulling on her pants and then stuffed her bra into the pocket. He was vaguely smiling, he realized. It must be some innate male response, he decided. He knew this was not a sight that would be quickly removed from his memory. And he hungrily stored it... if only because he acknowledged he would be mined for it when summoned before the Dark Lord.

She had embraced this bizarre idea of being "comfortable" and appearing "intimate" with her sour, older professor, he mused. She had been delightfully unashamed as she merely got dressed. For his part, he had tried not to stare. But likely failed, he knew.

Finally, forcing himself to form words he told her, "You need to keep your distance from Potter. It would not be wise for you two to be sharing notes right now."

"I wouldn't tell him about you."

"It's not just that. You do not want to know what he is planning or thinking because the Dark Lord will be testing you for your secrets. Understood?"

"And Ron?" she asked.

"Sorry. I keep thinking they are the same fatuous boy split between two bodies," he said harshly . "Yes, for God's sake, the same applies for Weasley."

Once she had walked to the bathroom, he got out of bed and started dressing. He found himself contemplating the closed bathroom door.

This was not the first time a woman had risen from his bed naked, but it had been a very, VERY long time. And there was something refreshing in this. A sense of innocence and simplicity that she brought to it. This was not the grotesque post-coital parade of the whores he had bought. It was... different. Summoning his own words from the night before, he reminded himself... 'It would not do to dwell.' He dressed quickly rather than be caught naked and then stood near the bathroom door.

"I am going to have you Floo to the Headmaster's office," he called to the closed door as he shrugged on his familiar frock coat. "That should get the man's attention."

While not unhearing, she was less than attentive to his voice. She felt decidedly ill and shaky. Unable to face the frightened girl in the mirror for fear of spooking herself, she latched onto the sink and breathed deeply. Finally, opening her eyes, she looked at the hands that gripped the wash basin and she would have sworn they were not hers. _Naked. In Snape's bed_. Her brain supplied. _And you are about to throw up in his sink. _ And with that she did.

She emerged from the bathroom with her hair wetted down and pulled back. Her courage back in place. "Crackers?" she asked looking hopeful and washed out.

"In the cabinet by the whiskey. In a tin."

"And the next time I want to see you?" she asked as she moved passed him for the sitting room.

"Want to see me?" he repeated slowly for effect.

He was jerking her around, she knew. So, she took her time answering him. She let him stand in the doorway working the buttons on his coat while she fished in his cabinet for the tin. Finally, with tired exaggeration and an eye roll she said, "The next time it is wise to expand our level of intimacy so that we can pull off this charade." She paused for a second while she extracted some crackers. "What I am saying is, last night wasn't horrid. And we need...

"Once invited here, by me, you would best come through Minerva's Floo..." he growled as he finished the last buttons.

She tentatively swallowed a few crackers and then looked better nearly immediately, "You are serious?" she said finally.

"No amount of supposed "intimacy" will find me joking, I fear, Miss Granger. Yes. Go through Professor McGonagall's quarters." He turned now to look at her. "She'll stop you. She'll want to know what's going on. And you will tell her. You'll need someone you can confide in. You will need help. Listen to me. Because this is important," he implored her earnestly. "I will _**not**_ always be here. And Dumbledore may not either. You need someone else. Someone to see you through this... condition," he said with a flick of his hand toward her stomach.

"My oath will not prevent my speaking with her?"

"No. Your oath was one against gossiping and idle chatter concerning me. I cannot begin to imagine Minerva McGonagall allowing such a thing anyway. Questions she asks and information you share with her are for your safety and benefit. She has my trust."

She nodded solemnly and then she asked, "Were you and she ever..."

"No," he replied quickly.

"Is there anyone she sees? She seems .... lonely."

"You are romanticizing ... again," he sighed. "Use her Floo often enough on Saturday mornings and you may catch someone there. She isn't lonely just because she isn't singing in the halls like you teenage, hormone-fueled lot. Now go. Just Floo Minerva, leave poor Dumbledore for this morning. But go before you make me miss breakfast."

"Right. Right. I'm off to warm up my voice for all that singing in the halls," she said under her breath as she walked to the fireplace.

He walked back into the bedroom as she grabbed the floo powder and ducked her head into the fireplace. After she had called Professor McGonagall's quarters, she told the astonished woman, "I need to Floo through."

Prompting her Head of House to reply testily, "It isn't a golf course, Miss Granger, but DO come through and begin explaining what is going on."

"Hermione?" Professor McGonagall began as soon as her student was clear of the fireplace.

"Yes, ma'am?'

Minerva shook her head and was forced to smile at a girl who could act so coy upon having Floo'd from her potion professor's quarters first thing in the morning.

"Would you like to explain?" Minerva prompted.

"It's alright. I mean, I'm alright. We went out last night. I was rather pushy I'm afraid and I insisted on staying over. It was not his idea. I'm no good at this," Hermione sighed.

"Just _**what**_ are you trying to be good at?" Minerva asked.

"He said I could... I _**should**_ speak with you," Hermione tried.

"Yes, and up until this moment, you were at least making headway on that score."

Hermione just moaned and gripped her head. Finally, she looked up at her professor and confessed, "I think I repulse him and that will make things even more difficult."

"You have been put in an inexcusable position. You should not be trying to prevent a professor from feeling ...repulsed by you." Minerva told her.

"He said I could confide in you about ..._**personal **_things."

"I will agree, but I am fairly certain morning conversations such as these will age me by decades." And with a sigh and a motion to the couch she said, "Sit down, Hermione."

Once settled, Minerva continued, "Please tell me that you are not trying to convince Professor Snape to consummate this relationship. "Hermione's look told Minerva the truth on that. "Oh, saints preserve him!"

"Nothing happened," Hermione interjected. "I stayed, but nothing happened."

"Hermione," Minerva said haltingly. "Perhaps you could throw yourself a little less fully into this role for the time being." Upon seeing Hermione's confused look, Minerva told the young witch, "Last week this time he had no idea of the new role he would be asked to play. If you did not give him a heart attack and he failed to hex you last night, I would say you are off to a remarkable start."

"He was not who he normally is," Hermione said vaguely, but Minerva did not miss her meaning.

"Oddly enough, we professors are all normal people, too. Well, fairly normal. Most of us," she equivocated with a half smile.

"He got a lot more normal after he made me take a wanded oath that I would not reveal anything about him to my friends in the form of girlish gossip."

"That explains a lot then, Hermione. He is not the sort to trust normally. And there is little reason he should. The world has not dealt fairly with him and he does not forget that. If he could not swear you to secrecy on the details of your interactions, you would find he was more difficult to deal with. Now, my girl, this pregnancy is something we need to talk about. You have had it confirmed by a healer?"

"A midwife. A witch. Professor Dumbledore took me to see her in Hogsmeade. She implanted things.

"And when are you due?"

"I don't know exactly."

"Well, no one ever does _**exactly**_, but did she give you a date?

"No."

"Well, I will talk to Severus about getting you some ante-natal care. I would tell you that I expect you to come to me as your head of house if there is anything serious like this in the _**future**_, but I cannot imagine what could possibly compare."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you," Hermione said with a faint smile before pushing up from the couch.

With her hand on the door, she started wondering how many questions she would get. How many people would have noticed her absence. As Head Girl, with her own room, and somewhat in charge of her own schedule, she should be able to get away with this for a while... right?

###

The photo lay in the bottom of his third dresser drawer. It had been at least a year since he had looked at it. He removed it from its place and opened its folding frame to sit it atop the dark bureau. The woman smiling at him was pretty. Young. Not too much older than Hermione Granger, he realized. And decidedly, not the woman he had known.

"Why?" he had asked his mother after his father's second absence that year.

"I thought I was in love with him," she said weakly.

A teenaged Severus merely shook his head. Disgusted, he walked out of the dreary room, leaving the puffy eyed woman to her sorrows.

Romanticism, he had decided early on, made fools of many. Idiots of some. Ruined the lives of a select, ridiculous few.

Pictures like this one bore no resemblance to the mother he had known. Married and pregnant too early, she had thrown _**everything**_ away on that man Snape. On that absurd idea of what life and love were supposed to bring. It had brought her nothing but misery. And she had passed that down to her son in spades.

###

The supposed Golden Trio was being pulled in different directions. It was not just the separate class schedules of Seventh year. Or that Hermione was Head Girl. Harry, she knew, had been having increasing meetings with the Headmaster. And she knew the two of them had been searching for something over the summer. Harry had not been able to confide in her much. Ron, for his part, had been a moody and distant since school had begun, making her think Harry was not confiding in him either. They were used to having each other to rely on. Now, with more than ever to manage, they were forced to function each on their own. Were her friends aware that she was shouldering something on her own?...Or were they too busy too notice. Or did they just think she was self-absorbed this quarter?

The headmaster had her and Harry working on things concerned with the war, so how many other chess pieces was he deploying? And in what directions?

Shaking her head, she tried to focus on the tasks she needed to finish. She stripped down and pushed through her wardrobe for her school uniform. She glanced down at her belly and resisted the urge to run her hand over it. It was impossible to think that there was actually a child in there. Even in her most nauseous moment, she could not equate that feeling with an actual child. One that she would hold in her arms.

Set free again, her mind continued to roam. She hadn't even kissed the man, she thought, and she had slept in his bed. This was not like anything she had ever done before and he was not like anyone she had ever known before. Her instincts told her he was not even like the man she had _**thought**_ he was a few weeks earlier.

###

It was Wednesday and she sat in potions class avoiding looking at the man whose bed she had shared just 5 days previously. Their essays were returned and hers had a small note scribbled in with the comments. "Overly long, excessively pedantic," he had written, followed by, "Thursday afternoon appt. See me."

As the class rose to leave, she filled her bag slowly, waiting for the chance to approach him.

"I can walk you part way to class, 'Mione," Ron said cautiously.

"I want to ask Professor Snape about my grade," she explained.

"Aw, no, Hermione. Don't do that," Ron pleaded. "It will only get worse."

"Go on, Ron," she whispered desperately in a tone which shouted 'save yourself.' Seeing Snape close on the pair of them, Ron grabbed his untidy stack of books and fled.

"No doubt, you have remained after so I can explain the meaning of the word '_**pedantic'**_..." Ron heard as the door swung shut.

Ron breathed a sigh of relief for having saved his own skin, but he wondered when Hermione would learn that it was not worth discussing a grade with the likes of Snape.

"I was hoping you could elucidate on the cryptic note at the end, Sir, rather than explain a word you have been writing on my parchments for 6 years," she said flatly.

"You," he said with a pause and a telling flick of the wrist at her midsection, "have an appointment in Hogsmeade on Thursday at 5pm. I," he drawled, "am the lucky soul who is to accompany you to town. You and I may both thank Professor McGonagall for this happy occurrence." He wore his sarcasm as much as uttered it, she decided.

Suspecting now that much of his ill manner was redeemable, if not outright manufactured, she felt safe in allowing a small, nearly infinitesimal smile. "I will indeed thank Professor McGonagall. Would meeting at your quarters at 4pm serve then?"

"I will meet you by the main entrance at 4pm." He leveled one of his most punishing stares at her, but she did not shrink away. In truth, this girl almost never had. But now he found there was no affect at all. His black eyes narrowed before he turned and left through the classroom's rear door without word.

##

That night at dinner Ron leaned over as if to prevent the distant potion master from over hearing their conversation. "So, Hermione. What did he say?" the red head whispered.

Harry paused his eating to look at her intently.

"He reiterated his belief that my research is pedantic." Hermione said coolly. "And he told me that he and I are going to Hogsmeade tomorrow evening."

Harry nearly choked on his drink. His eyes seem to swell behind his glasses.

"Professor Dumbledore is sending Professor Snape to see if it is too dangerous for students to go on their Hogsmeade outing next month. And Professor McGonagall wants me to pick up some things for her," Hermione said with as much calmness as possible. She waited for the deluge of questions and the stares of disbelief.

"Sending Snape?! To make sure Hogsmeade is safe?" Ron questioned. "What is the headmaster thinking?"

"You said the Headmaster was acting dodgy lately, Harry," Ginny put in quietly.

"Yeah," Ron said. "I think Snape has him right where he wants him. He finagled the trip. Only he won't be making sure it is safe."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's right, Ron. He is going to try to poison the town's supply of butterbeer. Luckily, Professor McGonagall is sending me along."

"Why do you need to go, Hermione?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"I am picking up Professor McGonagall's tins of biscuits, a phonograph needle and some records."

"And Snape can't manage that?!" Ron asked incredulously.

"Would you trust Professor Snape with your favorite biscuits?" Hermione asked as she took a sip of tea.

"I don't want him anywhere near MY biscuits," Ron mumbled. Ginny heard him and smacked him soundly to the back of the head.

"Right. 'Nuff said about the biscuits. Still I don't like the idea of you going with him," Ginny told her friend.

"He doesn't scare me. He isn't the boogey man or whatever it is people think...." Hermione began.

"Right," Ron interrupted. "He's just a great big misunderstood... DEATH EATER. Eh, Harry?" Ron fumed.

"Well, I certainly don't understand him and I don't want to. Just keep your wits about you, Hermione. I don't have to think he is the boogey man to not trust him," Harry said.

"I'll be careful," she said smiling. "I'm knackered. I'm just going to study in my room for a bit and turn in early. I'll see you guys at breakfast." She stood and walked slowly for the exit.

##

"What is it you think about when you are quiet for so long?" she asked after 20 wordless minutes traveled together on the path to Hogsmeade.

"Poisons. Methods for killing lab rats without damaging their stomach contents, punishments for unruly students," he said harshly. "And what does our fertile teen savior think about?"

"Make-up. Fluffy bunnies. Crushes on the 'bad boys' of Hogwarts," she told him in a feigned vapid voice. He looked at her sideways and wondered to himself how little he knew about this girl... woman. She had a very perceptive wit. And unfortunately, she read him with alarming facility. Cerebral and saucy, she must spend half her waking hours explaining everything to those dull boys she indulged.

In silence, he walked her through the town finally stopping in front of a brick store front. "It is on the second floor. I am going to walk through town and will return here in 45 minutes. If I am not here. Do not exit the building. Wait inside."

"You'll get those things for Professor McGonagall?"

"I will get them, yes," he ground out sounding pained. He turned and strode off.

When she walked out of the building just over 45 minutes later, Severus was standing across the street in the shelter of a doorway. The difference in her was noticeable. She appeared some what stunned. Overwhelmed. It was the sort of look new students frequently wore at the end of their first week of classes.

"We need to stop at the Hog's Head. I have business with the proprietor and we may as well have dinner as we cannot return to Hogwarts in time. And it seems you need some time for the _**stupor**_ your appointment has introduced to fade," he told her with affected tedium.

They began to walk together and in his impatience, he began to outdistance her. She reached for his elbow and managed to snag the cloth of his coat. "Might we walk _**together**_?"

He stopped and then matched her pace. "You are of a mind to talk, no doubt. You are hoping to tell me about your meeting with the midwife," he grumbled.

"No, I would never want to force such details on you. Because I know you are not even curious as a learned man."

"Fine, do try to surprise and amaze me then. Since you must," he replied without even deigning to look at her.

"Can you believe that I was given a list of 450 things which I can no longer eat?!" she said with a comic sort of irritation. "That I have to gain weight _**to a chart**_. That I am not to fly a broom, concoct class D Potions or take anything not on the short list the healer gave me..."

"Were you given any information relevant to me?" he asked.

She paused thinking he meant something about a prohibition on sex, but he seemed to have placed _**himself**_ under such a prohibition...

"... perhaps," he grumbled sarcastically, "you were told when you are due? When you can expect the blessed event?"

"Oh, gads. Yes. June 12. June!" she reiterated as if imparting the most unbelievable information. "My God, that's a long way off."

There was something in the way she related all of this that told him she would not allow herself to feel overwhelmed by it. There was the sense of adventure in her voice.

He held the door for her at the Hog's Head and helped her off with her coat once to their booth. "See if there is something on the menu that is not on your list of forbidden foods," he teased. "I need to speak with Aberforth." And she watched him step to the bar and speak with the short, grey haired man there. The proprietor leaned close to Severus, said something, and then plainly looked at her. The conversation ended when Severus passed something to the smaller man.

Dinner was quiet, but she felt closer to him somehow. Perhaps because he was the only one she could share this news with for now. Even if he was not interested, he did allow her to speak of it somewhat at least.

An hour later, they walked in the dark down the path back to Hogwarts. "What's wrong," he asked impatiently when he saw that she had stopped.

"I was just looking at the stars. I always like to find Orion."

He stood behind her as if to unnerve her, but she trusted him now, as she seemed to know his limits.

He considered the display they would likely make when it was time to be discovered. They would need to be caught out by the right person and in the right place. She would need to be comfortable with him touching her, he told himself. With him taking hold of her. And so, he pulled up close behind her suddenly, wrapping his arm and his open coat around her. His arm skimmed along the bottom of her ribs steering clear of her breasts and the frightening spot that was her pregnant belly. She continued to look at the sky and he could not see it, but she smiled a bit at his trying to take her by surprise... at his trying to provoke the shudder that he had on their last outing. She upped the ante then and wrapped her arm around his to hold him in close to her.

"Help me find Cassiopeia," she simply said.

He could forget who and what he was, he admitted to himself, if he was subjected to whimsical requests such as that in her breathy voice.

"You need to work on saying my name with surety," he said. "We will appear in public when it is time to orchestrate our discovery. You will need to be _**very**_ comfortable with me."

"Fine," she said in a whisper. "Severus, I like the smell of your coat," she tried.

And she leaned her head back as if to hear his critique on her performance, but he merely told her. "You are looking in the completely wrong direction for Cassiopeia." After a moment he added, "Give it up. There's no help in the stars for us."

"I'm not fortune telling. But I like the stories behind the constellations."

"Ah. Then we should find Andromeda. The virgin to be sacrificed," he deftly teased.

"Her hero came for her," she countered.

"Stories," he said dismissively. "Heroes do not appear out of nowhere to protect every woman in a ridiculous situation."

"I think I enjoy those myths more now, because so many stories I heard as a child turned out to be real. Sagitarius the Centaur? Magic? Merpeople. Witches on brooms. It makes me wonder what else we don't believe in that we should."

"Come along, Andromeda," he said pulling his arm from her. "We need to get back."

She'd remember that night for the rest of her life. That was when she started to think on him as Hephaestus or Vulcan. A deity made to feel ugly because he was denied the gods' traditional beauty. A child made lame in the battle between his parents. A boy cast out. A smith made to work the forge that supplied the gods with the weapons of war.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I own so very little. And sadly no part of the HP empire is mine. And I make nothing (nothing!) from all these scribblings. But it keeps me out of trouble. **

* * *

For Hermione it was a weekend of feigned normalcy. On Saturday, she bundled up and sat with Neville in the bleachers to watch the Gryffindor Quidditch team narrowly beat Hufflepuff. The game dragged on, and Harry seemed sluggish and not his old self. She then spent most of Sunday in the common room, distracted by her thoughts, vaguely studying and chatting with Ginny, Ron and Harry.

At breakfast that Monday, her body forced her to consider her situation. The nausea she had had for weeks and so, it didn't worry her. The crampy feelings, however, were new. Poppy was unaware of her condition. So, she could not go to the infirmary for help with symptoms or for answers to her questions. Hermione had already read and reread the scant instructions the old witch in Hogsmeade had given her.

Professor Snape would obviously be no help. He did not discuss the pregnancy more than necessary and had made it clear he would not involve himself. And she could not approach the man, but must simply wait to hear from him. There was no romanticizing _**that **_aspect of his personality, she told herself.

Hermione was wary of abusing Professor McGonagall's offer of help. After all, Hermione was supposed to be alone in this. She was supposed to be able to manage on her own. A frightening sense of isolation was becoming very, very real, however.

She sighed and tried to distance herself from the scrambled eggs on the table – the smell of which threatened to dislodge the toast she had managed to keep down thus far.

There was a rustle at the far end of the Great Hall. The morning's owls were arriving. There would be no more letters from home, she reminded herself, and she resolutely turned her head further from the sound. Professor McGonagall had taken on the burden of placing her parents out of harm's reach. Even Hermione did not know where they were now.

An insistent owl pushed at a bleak looking Hermione until she reached for the parcel it bore. She could at least direct it to the proper party, she decided.

With surprise, she saw it was addressed to her and in a script she did not recognize. It was a book from the feel of it. She moved slowly to untie the parcel, unable to escape the feeling that this was mistakenly sent somehow. Once she had removed the outer wrapping, she saw the cautionary note on the inner paper. "_For when alone..."_

"What's that then, Hermione?" Ginny asked. "You aren't going to open it?"

"It's only a book," Hermione said quickly. "I don't want to get it dirty handling it over breakfast," she added, as she pushed it into her satchel.

"_**Only**_ a book..." Ron repeated with exaggeration, as he roughly nudged Harry. "See, I told you she was off. She just said 'only' about a book!"

"We're late, Ron. Get your things," was all Harry said. He tried to send Hermione a sympathetic look, but she was busily sorting her satchel. _Ignoring us_, Harry thought as he pushed Ron on the back to get him moving.

It wasn't just that she was Head Girl, Harry had decided. She had gotten quieter and more distant lately. Maybe she had come back from summer break like that. Harry wasn't sure. Maybe the change was because of him. The secrecy that Dumbledore had placed on him because of their work to recover the first Horcrux had made it difficult for him to talk with anyone.

As Hermione fixed the flap on her bag, she shot a quick glance up to the head table, wondering who had sent the package. And what it was... She was surprised to see a scowling Professor Snape placing something wrapped in brown paper in HIS robes. The Deputy Headmistress was feeding an owl that had likely just made a delivery to the head table. She had to hurry to class, however, despite the curiosity now roused in her.

It was November already, but Hermione was still adjusting to a schedule that did not include Ron and Harry outside of Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. After her first class, an advanced Arithmancy tutorial, she sheepishly stole into the nearest girls lavatory to look at her book.

"It's charmed," she whispered as her wand hovered over the now-revealed, plain brown leather. It was not until she held the soft cover in her hand that she felt the magical connection. The sensation elicited a tiny, "Whoa..." from her. It was like holding something with a faint electrical charge. Peeling back the front, she took note of the title,_ "A Confidential Guide to Your Teenage Magical Pregnancy."_ Experimenting, she closed the book and then opened it using the paper, making very sure not to touch it with her hands. This time the flyleaf revealed the title, _"Knitted Lace of Estonia: Techniques, Patterns, and Traditions by Nancy Bush."_

She smiled and finally relaxed enough to lean against the wall of the toilet stall. She was not quite alone. Thank Goodness.

The new guide in her satchel was just begging to be read. There was not likely a subject about which Hermione knew less than pregnancy. She was eager to read the book at length once she could get back to her room for the night. After the cursory rounds required of her as Head Girl, she quickly returned to her room and removed the book from under her pillow. Skimming through, she reached an applicable passage:

_You're near the end of your first trimester As you already know, hormones are unpredictable and life is unfair._

_Well, the author got THAT right,_ she thought.

The chapter continued:_ So, as far as your appearance goes, you might have that rosy glow or you might have troll-like acne. An increase in blood volume is responsible for the glow, and it's those hormones (once again) that are making your skin oily. This is only temporary, so take it in stride and pamper yourself, but be sure to ask your healer before trying any new skin potions or beauty spells._

_You also might be feeling some aching in your pelvic area this week as your uterus expands and your ligaments stretch to accommodate your growing baby. If this aching becomes painful or is accompanied by bleeding, contact your healer immediately._

_But otherwise, there is no reason for you and your partner not to enjoy an active sex life at this point._

"Sex? Partner? Ha," she mumbled and snapped the pages closed roughly.

#$%

Morning found her dressed and with her bag, standing at the door to her room. She couldn't manage to exit though. She rested her head against the thick wood and breathed heavily. She had worked so hard to do well at school just so she could be expelled seventh year? Everything. _**Everything**_ she had worked for these past six years was going to be forfeit.

_Not completely true_, she tried to remind herself. She had fought all these years to keep her friends safe, to see the war ended. To do what was right. And that is what she was doing. _Right?_ she thought with entirely too much self-doubt.

But pregnant? She had read the book through last night and she allowed herself a little bit of fear. How was she going to get through this on her own? How was she going to manage? She would be expelled. Would she really be of any use to anyone then?

She heaved one more deep breath, set her jaw, straightened her robes, and pulled open the door. There was nothing to do but go along as normally as possible until the next part of the plan was revealed to her.

#$%

That Friday, the morning owls brought her a note. "_Andromeda, come see me tonight. 8 pm_," it read.

She groaned as she balled up the paper. Did he have to send her a message at breakfast? Now she had at least three pairs of eyes boring into her waiting for an explanation. She hated lying. She was so horrible at it.

"What is it, Hermione?" Ginny finally asked. "Doesn't seem like good news."

"Oh, I'm just frustrated. I had sent an owl to the book store in Hogsmeade hoping they had something I needed, but they don't."

"You need MORE books?" Ron said incredulously.

Ginny said nothing, but looked at Hermione as if to assess things. The look on her friend's face was not one that Hermione could meet, and she shifted her eyes guiltily to the table top as she began the betrayal.

"I was just hoping they had a book on.... constellations and the mythology behind them," Hermione lied. They all looked at her oddly. They were in the middle of a war and Hermione was suddenly distracted by something that esoteric? That impractical. And pointless?

###

That evening, she walked into the dungeon toward the potions classroom, keeping to the shadows as if that would prevent her from being discovered.

She heard a cat's meow. Hermione swore it was a very satisfied noise that Mrs. Norris channeled on behalf of her owner. Looking up, she saw the pair of them. Filch stroking the cat absent mindedly as he smiled at finding the Head Girl so far from where she belonged.

"I'm NOT out after curfew," she complained pre-emptively.

"Oh, not saying that you is Miss, not yet anyway," he rasped. "But it does seem odd that you would be down here." He was enjoying this, she could see.

"I lost a book and I think it is in the potions classroom." Another lie and this one a horribly transparent one. She had not even had potions that day. What were the chances she had left a book in that classroom two days previously and was only NOW coming to retrieve it? She rolled her eyes at her own stupidity.

"Let's go, dearie," the ancient caretaker said to his cat. "Only an hour till curfew." He continued on his slow, plodding way to the steps that lead up from the dungeon. Hermione ducked into the classroom to thread her way through the back entrance to Severus' quarters.

Severus raised an eyebrow at her as she came in the door that lead from his study. Thinking he needed an explanation on what had kept her, she told him simply, "Professor McGonagall was out so I had to come through the classroom. And then there was Filch," she sighed tiredly. "By the time this is done people definitely will believe that I am having an affair with you."

"Try not to act so disgusted by the idea, it makes it seem less plausible," he warned with venom in his voice.

"It's not _**that**_," she stressed. "It's the idea that people will think that I am doing something... wrong."

"You are worried about what people will think?!" he spat. "Did you put ANY consideration into your decision to get pregnant and foist yourself upon me as my savior? Hmm? Or were you just seeing the resulting headlines? '_Head Girl Saves the Wizarding World!'_ Get it through your head, if you are going through with this, then you ARE sleeping with your professor. And you are so _**eager**_ to get down here, you are willing to lie. Can you handle knowing EVERYONE will see _**that**_ as the only truth?"

"But..." she started and then faltered. She was starting to realize, this could not be treated as a role. It had to be real to her. It had to be the only life she had left.... _But._... her mind echoed again. "I'm just not ..." she said weakly. "It's difficult knowing everyone will think that I am a horrible person."

"It's not enough to simply know that you are doing the right thing. Is it? You need everyone to know how _**valiant**_ you are," he told her harshly.

"Must you work SO hard to make me feel shallow?"

"Really, it isn't very hard work at all," he countered.

She stared hard at him and dropped her satchel to the floor. Her usually active brain was completely useless suddenly. Only one word came to mind: _Bastard_. A week ago things had seemed oddly good between them. Was it walking in the dark? The constellations? Being away from Hogwarts. How could she rectify this beast of a man with the one who had wrapped his coat around her and teased her gently that night?

He turned and walked away from her before he addressed her again. In a more conciliatory tone, he told her, "The Dark Lord does not know anything of this plan. You could quit it. Are you sure you want to continue?"

"If it helps you," she said resolutely.

"It might," he admitted as he dropped his head and pinched at his brow. "It can make things no worse for me." Finally raising his eyes to hers, he told her, "But YOU are a great deal safer the farther from me you are."

Hermione could say nothing. His concern for her life seemed genuine. As strangely genuine as the poor view he held of her. The more she knew of this man, the less she understood him. And the more she desperately wanted to understand him.

Seeing her seemingly frozen standing there, he motioned to the settee. She walked to it and sat down, keeping her attention firmly on him.

"The Dark Lord," he then said, "may kill me for taking up with you or he may reward me. There is no knowing." Hermione was stunned as he talked about that likelihood with an honest simplicity.

"But," Severus continued, "he will be too intrigued once he learns of the pregnancy to not at least want to have you brought to him." He paused a moment to let that frightening reality sink in and took up the seat opposite. "Tell me now and I will get you out of here. Although," he said with perverse amusement, "I am not sure I can do anything about the damage you've already done to your reputation."

"Oh, bugger my idiot reputation!" she near-screamed. "I still believe in this plan," she said thoughtfully. "My being pregnant and the chaos Voldemort _**knows**_ that will cause, will work in your favor." She leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees. Her manner and her words were intense. Her eyes almost pleading him to believe as well.

"Once you cannot stay here, you will need some place to be. Some place safe. Where you are not alone. I've made some inquiries on your behalf. There is a book store in Diagon Alley. The proprietor and his family have an apartment above the store to rent to a person who would also work as a clerk there. This man is _**not **_on the side of the light, but he is too cowardly to cause you any problem. But then no one loyal to the Order will have anything to do with you once word gets out whose child you are carrying."

"I had not thought how to support myself once I left here," she admitted. "I hadn't even known when I would leave...."

"The first matter is to have us discovered. Once we are through that and the Dark Lord's summons, we will know more. The timing does not only depend on me. The Headmaster and Potter, as you know, have business they are working on together.

"Yes, but I don't know what."

"And that is for the best," he explained. "You can not appear before the Dark Lord with secrets such as those. We can talk later how best to handle an audience with him. For now I just wanted to know that you are of a mind to continue?"

"Yes," she answered firmly.

"And you will consent to going to London and living in Diagon Alley? It is the safest arrangement. I assure you," he told her intently with no touch of his usual coldness.

"Then yes," she readily agreed.

The speed with which things changed between them frightened her. He had greeted her so coldly tonight and then in the course of 20 minutes acted concerned. She did not want to dwell on it, though. She wanted to foster the feeling he had left her with just now as he had nodded and then subconsciously dropped his gaze to his hands. She wanted to believe this feeling that he somehow cared.

Of course he has the capacity to be protective, she thought as she looked at his hands and then his strong profile. How many students owed this man their lives over the past 6 years that she had known him? But the short sighted among them always imagined his motives to be self serving.

But that is not at all that I am seeing and hearing tonight, she thought. I am not imagining this. There is a depth to this man. _But he does not like that I will see it_, she realized as he avoided her eyes.

Severus walked away from her for the cabinet where his firewhiskey lay, and she saw how stiffly he carried himself. Hermione realized she had been blind to the small actions he had made since her arrival. The pinching of the bridge of his nose. The small grimaces when he moved.

She had been distracted by the harshness with which he had greeted her and the self-pity he had pricked in her, she now saw. And she had let him lull her into her usual position of underling. Leaving him the professor. And a persona rather than a person. She had not looked at him and considered him human. Considered his ...feelings. Only in small moments had she been able to approach that, she realized. Aided by darkness. At times when she did not look into his face and see her teacher. Those were her only glimpses into who this man might be.

He was less guarded here in his quarters than in his classroom. And the message in his body was clear.

"The pain," she said, not giving him the chance to deny its existence. "Is it squarely between the shoulder blades or just to the one side." She came up behind him then and touched him in the center of his back. He said nothing but when her hand moved just to the left he grunted and pulled away.

"You should let me rub it. It seems a lot like the pulls Quidditch players get when they are twisted off their brooms."

"Is this a side of you I know nothing about," he growled. "Have you been perhaps paying your Hogwarts fees with your summer earnings from Wicked Wanda's Emporium for Men?"

She rolled her eyes at his teasing. "Or, it could be, that some of the Quidditich players need a rub down now and then. "

"Any hands you have used to stroke an oiled, grunting Weasley you need not apply to me." He poured his firewhiskey and then turning, he held the glass at his chest – enforcing a distance between them.

"The Weasley I gave a massage to was Ginny and she did no grunting."

And honestly he had not considered it. He had only thought of a male Weasley, Krum or Potter splayed out in front of her, half naked and smiling. Covered in oil. Hermione straddling him.

"Do you have your own table?" he asked with sarcasm before he pulled a long sip from the glass.

Before she could address him again, he began to pace. A comfortable distance established, Snape turned to examine her. He considered her and who she was. A muggle-born anxious to fit in. An outsider to this society trying to prove herself. Always looking for approval in the classroom. So desperate to please. He shook his head at her and told her in a quiet voice, "You try too hard."

She couldn't see the turn his thoughts were taking as he moved to his wing back chair, picked up the book that rested on the seat and sat down. _The girl craves attention, _he thought with distaste. Once his whiskey was safely on the table, he rested his eyes on the pages of his book, but he didn't read. His mind was busily deconstructing Hermione._ The ridiculous woman would willing draw attention to herself, because in her mind, the world is still mostly comprised of people who are good. And attention, therefore, is good._

For his part, he had received more than enough attention in his life time. And the results were most decidedly negative. To be noticed, he had learned early on, was to risk his father's cuffing. At school, attention came as the marauder's torture for the crime of merely existing. And craving acceptance, had brought him and a crop of stupid fools before the Dark Lord.

As Hermione crept up beside him, she knew he was closing down to her. But she was blind to how dangerously far his mood had fallen.

"Severus," she said in a soft, worried voice. She never spoke his name in more than a whisper. It felt too odd on her tongue, and it felt too extreme a liberty to use it with anything less than care. She saw the faraway look to him. There was agitation in his features. A fierce set to his jaw. But she underestimated it because she could not understand what could have provoked a change in him so quickly.

"Now," she said too lightly, "we could do the massage on the bed or the floor."

She was standing extremely close to him now. He felt like the prey suddenly, having to crane his already sore neck up to look at her. Had she done that on purpose, so he could not deny there was something bothering him, he wondered.

"Floor or bed?" she said simply and seriously as she extended a hand.

"Even an old dog has some bite. And some pride," he told her firmly, but she ignored his warning.

"I am thinking bed. That way you can just sleep after you get nice and relaxed." A wicked, but ill-timed smile pulled at her lips at the idea of "nice and relaxed" being applied to Severus Snape.

"Leave it," he ground out in a voice which frightened her.

Her expression showed her confusion, and she backed away from him. Silently she took up her spot on his settee and watched the pained way he held his head.

He was miserable and it was made worse because _**she knew**_ he was in pain. And because she insisted on sitting there pretending to be something no one was. Concerned. Sympathetic. He would make her rue the day she decided to approach him using pity. Reflexively, his hand flew to cover the ache in his neck.

"Do you honestly believe that you always know what is best for everyone? I do not find your mollycoddling in the least bit alluring," he spat. "In fact your constant need to rescue and fix everything is nothing but a thinly veiled desire to control. Your efforts are wasted on me, Miss Granger." He abruptly stood causing her to shrink back against the settee. Using his height to intimidate her, he loomed over her. "Go back to your room," he then hissed menacingly. Turning, he strode hard for his bedroom, leaving her confused and alone in his sitting room.

#$

She left that night in a daze and Floo'd back through Professor McGonagall's. Her Head of House was out and so, she went quickly to her room. The clock read 9:15. _How could so much happen in a little more than an hour?_ she thought with emotional exhaustion. She let herself collapse on to her bed. Everything was well and truly buggered because she had been so self absorbed at the beginning of the evening. She had whined about people thinking the worst of her. Then she had complained after only two months of this, when he had had to shoulder much worse for over 15 years! Finally, she had pushed him about a massage as if he was Ron or Harry. As if he could be told what he needed. But, of course, that would not work with Professor Snape.

Hermione groaned. She needed to fix her part of it. _But how?_

#$

Saturday's owls swooped into the Great Hall and this time, at the sight of them, the Head Girl lowered her head to hide her worried expression.

An owl at the head table was rescued from an ill tempered Professor Snape by the Transfiguration professor. The calm, but severe-looking witch then removed the attached parchment and held it up for the potions master. The man rolled his eyes and snatched it from her, and the woman went back to making a show of soothing the bird.

Hermione was one of only two people in that room who knew what the note said (as professor McGonagall's attempts to read it were completely thwarted). The young woman repeated the words over in her head as she hoped he would hear them.

_I'm sorry,_ the simple printed words said. _Let me take you to dinner tonight? Your presumptuous, shallow Andromeda._

She heard nothing from him. But then Hermione did not expect him to respond as some sappy, demonstrative boy would. That evening she acted the proper Head Girl and patrolled the whole castle before ending up back in the dungeons.

"Leave me. Surely we could use some time off from this game," he growled at his first sight of her entering his office.

"It's not a game. Right? I get that now. We are in this together. And you are the man I am... sleeping with," she managed after a slight hesitation. "The man I would lie to my friends to come see. And I am sorry I was such a monumental prat last night. I was being pushy. Acting as if I knew what was best for you." As his scowl barely softened, she told him with a bit of cheek, "And as you are the most wonderful lover I have ever had, I cannot stand the idea of you being cross with me. So, I want you to take me back."

He sighed, and then finally told her, "I believe you promised me dinner."


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N: How to write a confusing chapter by MyMadness:**_

_**First start before the last chapter left off and show a different point of view, before having the two points of view nicely collide at the end. Step two, have Snape insane enough that he is not only talking to himself, but answering. A lot. In different personae.**_

_**Warning: This chapter includes a wanton disregard for taking prescription medicine as prescribed and an excessive use of intoxicating beverages. And profanity. And some mild, but curable insanity.**_

* * *

"_Do you honestly believe that you always know what is best for everyone? I do not find your mollycoddling in the least bit alluring," he spat. "In fact your constant need to rescue and fix everything is nothing but a thinly veiled desire to control. Your efforts are wasted on me, Miss Granger." He abruptly stood causing her to shrink back against the settee. Using his height to intimidate her, he loomed over her. "Go back to your room," he then hissed menacingly. Turning, he strode hard for his bedroom, leaving her confused and alone in his sitting room._

He knew Hermione had left. He had heard her footfalls across his sitting room. He could smell the faint traces of Floo powder.

_Oh, well done_, he told himself with censure. He groaned as he bent over and pinched at his brow.

_You have a wonderful way with women, _he told himself sarcastically.

He began to shake as his frustration and self loathing seethed in him. The need to cry out was something he felt swelling in his chest. And the will to control his emotions was something he could picture passing through his fingers.

"Damned," he bellowed. "I am well and truly damned_."_

He reached in the drawer and found the pain medication Poppy had given him. "Two for serious pain," he read, and promptly shot four into his mouth. He saw the portrait there and pulled it out with trembling hands. _The second time in a month you've pulled this old thing out,_ he chided himself. _Pretty soon you'll be talking to her, _he thought, as he looked at his mother's face.

"Pretty soon, she'll answer you back," his Demon mocked.

He lowered his head to his hand and rested there, leaning on the bureau. "Why did I have to be saddled with Granger?"

_Because Albus was convinced you were suicidal, erratic, useless..._

"Fuck off. Why shouldn't I be? Why couldn't it be over," he complained.

"Dumbledore can't let you go limp on him now," his Demon chided harshly.

"It's not the girl. You know it's not her fault," he heard, as he raised his eyes and found his mother's face. "What's happened to you? What's made you like this?"

"Bully the boy, get a bully," the Demon answered simply. "After everything, did you think there would be a saint sitting here?"

_Had Dumbledore purposely tied their fates together, _he wondered_. _Severus was no saint, but Dumbledore would know he still wouldn't be able to throw away someone else's life._ He had been so close to finding his end.... and now?_

"Fucking bastard," he moaned, as he clawed at his shirt to open the neck. A faint ripple of magical energy pulsed from him as his control faltered. The scant furnishings in his room trembled.

His chest heaved. _Control yourself_, he told himself. _Think clearly. Methodically. Reason this out._

"What is best for Hermione?" he asked himself.

_Well, not getting killed by the Dark Lord, _he answered himself sarcastically. _Not having the child, not being anywhere near me._

"Too late," his sardonic Demon replied.

_If the plan succeeds and the Dark Lord believes that I have gotten her pregnant and that she is loyal to me, we at least stand a chance, _he thought.

"I don't want her life in my hands," he raged violently.

He staggered, his head pounding and his breathing coming hard. Once to the sitting room he reached for his firewhiskey. He slopped it into the glass and drained it with out preamble. It did no good. _There's no good to be done_, he told himself wryly. The rage and self-pity was all there just below the surface. So barely restrained now. His lips curled into a debauched sneer as he realized the magic he could unleash as his command of himself slipped.

He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to concentrate. _The affair and an attachment to me must be perceived as real. But, she must know as few secrets as possible. Then.... just maybe then, she will be left alone._

"You have to let her form an attachment.._.." _a voice said. It was that part of him that still hoped. That part of him that he kept so far under wraps, that he thought it long dead. That guardian over his soul was trying to reason with him.

"Let her?" his Demon scoffed. "As if that is the normal thing that would happen between you.... Oh, she will need inducement."

"You bastard, Dumbledore," he cried out, so loud it tore at his throat. There was no holding his frenzy back. He felt himself begin to cry. Irrational laughter bubbled up in his throat. Everything he had been restraining leapt from him. He gripped the cabinet as the storm tore through the room. The books fell from their shelves. His fire flared and then was blown out. The Demon in him rejoiced at the chaos and amplified it. An amused look on his face, he reached to grab the bottle of whiskey to save it from toppling over.

Rubbing his head with the back of the hand that held his glass and clutching his whiskey with the other hand, he walked through the debris on his floor. Collapsing in his wing back chair, he stuck out his long legs and rested his glass on his chest as if this were an ordinary evening. Soon his eyes drifted closed.

"She's risking her life... Just try to make this work..." the Keeper of his Soul instructed him. He gripped his head as if he could shut the voice out. "You cannot be such a right bastard to her, Snape," the Keeper said firmly now. "You cannot go about pissing on everyone, content to make the world suffer. Let her care about you."

"She doesn't really care," he mumbled.

"Treat her fairly and she will befriend you. A simple relationship. Nothing complicated. It's just for show to buy you time. To buy Dumbledore the time he needs," his Keeper told him.

"First she would have to forget _**everything**_ she knows about me..." he reminded the room. "I have spent the past 6 years acting like a bully, tormenting her and her friends."

_"_So, modest? You are a _**very**_ accomplished bully," his Demon floated out.

"I have been, yes. I wasn't always," he sighed. Occasionally, his soul pricked him and asked for some honesty. In those unfortunate hours when his devils kept him from sleep, he freely admitted the depths to which he had sunk.

The belittled child had come of age. He was not likely to be the victim any more. And still, the bully worried that he might be mocked and used.

"You can trust Hermione. No one, not even SHE-WE-WILL-NOT-NAME, handled your ill-temper," the Keeper told him.

"Granger only comes back because she has to," he asserted.

"This self pity does not become you, Severus," he heard his mother say. "Tonight, don't you think her compassion was real? Don't you think it hurt her to see you in pain?"

"Ha," he said unconvincingly. "She wanted the control it would give her over me."

He could see his mother sadly shake her head and fade away, defeated.

Maybe it should have bothered him that he wasn't the best of people. _But who was?_ he thought. Even the ones with the best reputations, like Dumbledore, were users. And people who figure their time on earth is not only extremely limited, but harshly punitive are not likely to take the time, or have the time for self improvement, he reasoned. That was a good enough excuse, wasn't it?

_So let me be_, he nearly said out loud to the specters that plagued him.

"Why do I have to do this?" Severus complained.

"Because you promised," the Keeper gently told him.

"Promised, yes, so many, many years ago," he groaned.

"You wanted to save HER. You would have done anything to save her. Should the world have doubted you then, as you doubt Hermione now?" the Keeper of his Soul reasoned.

"Please don't forget that it was all for naught," the Demon delighted in reminding him. "Lily is dead. Very, very, dead."

"I have been talking to you, Severus," he heard a new voice say, cautiously. "Would you mind acknowledging me?"

He languidly raised his gaze to see that Minerva had stepped through his Floo.

"Several First Years are wetting their beds, and I suspect you are to blame," she said, surveying the damage done to his quarters. "It has been reported that there is a disturbance down here. A previously unknown ghost is thought to have taken up residence in the dungeon and the Slytherin Head of House has not been answering the frantic knocks on his door. Do you have any explanation?"

He cast a quiet, deliberate eye at his glass. "12 year old Glendronach, 80 proof?" He asked, unrepentant.

"Or the situation with Miss Granger?" she accused.

"What am I supposed to do? She is in your house, why isn't she your problem?" he said unreasonably.

"You need to work in a more ... positive direction. Forgive me, but even as a Scot I must warn that the answer does not lie with Glendronach whiskey. 12 years old, or nae.... And it doesn't lie in the past," Minerva said, as she laid a gentle hand on his arm. "And I know that's where you've been when I see you like this. We are running out of time, Severus. And I care more for you than you know. I will not use you for the sake of this war. So, believe me when I tell you, you can do this. You'll get her out of this safely. You and her both. But you cannae afford to spend one more moment looking backwards, Severus. Because there is no going back ...for any of us."

"The world has shaped him thus. Let it suffer with what it has made," his Demon chimed in.

And he heard Minerva's strong voice rise in challange, "No. He won't do that. He won't give up."

The Demon would not relent. "The time will come," it said, "when he is finally crushed, by one side or the other. Neither side... no one... can claim to care a damn for him. For his soul. His pain."

"Severus, I care. I do. And Hermione? She is risking so much," he heard Minerva say in his mind. "Don't let the Devil hold you back. And the Devil, man.... you know he is the one who waves the past in your face. Hmm? So step up. This is the last thing the world will ask of you. It is more than we have a right to ask. I know. I know," she told him softly.

"Damn me," he spat, sounding hurt.

"No. Child, no." And Minerva lowered a motherly kiss to his forehead. She relieved him of his whiskey glass, placing it on the cupboard.

As she made her way to the Floo, she recognized a book among the many on the floor. She retrieved it and delivered it softly into his lap. "Good night, Severus," she whispered.

He groaned as he read the book's spine, _The Expectant Wizard: Your Guide to Her Pregnancy_

///

"_Leave me. Surely we could use some time off from this game," he growled at his first sight of her entering his office._

"_It's not a game. Right? I get that now. We are in this together. And you are the man I am... sleeping with," she managed after a slight hesitation. "The man I would lie to my friends to come see. And I am sorry I was such a monumental prat last night. I was being pushy. Acting as if I knew what was best for you." As his features softened, she told him with a bit of cheek, "And as you are the most wonderful lover I have ever had, I cannot stand the idea of you being cross with me. So, I want you to take me back."_

_He sighed, and then finally told her, "I believe you promised me dinner."_

He stood and walked to the door where she was. He grabbed his coat from the rack there and kept his head down, his eyes hidden as he put it on.

"It's cloudy tonight. I doubt we'll see any stars," he said, softly. It was a start. _But, tell her_, that better part of him encouraged. With his eyes on the door, he told her, "Even if I find your manner pushy at times, that is no reason for me to react the way I did."

Her eyes grew a bit wider. Her smile lifted up unseen by him. She was pretty sure that angels had just fluttered down for a moment...

...because Severus Snape had apologized

...and she felt it soften her heart


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: These characters do not belong to me.**

**This chapter discusses sex (but does not depict anything), virginity, poetry. All things that make people a bit squeamish, so proceed with caution.**

* * *

They had walked for the Hogwarts gate separately; he leaving by the castle's main door, she from the exit there by the dungeon. Again, she waited by the stone wall.

This time he walked to her slowly, rather than impatiently rushing to Apparate with her. His pale hand extended to her seemed to carry significance in the gloaming. It made her wary of taking his hand. And she chided herself for her fearfulness and her unease with a man who was supposedly her lover. As he came closer, she reached for his covered forearm instead.

Things seemed so much more intense tonight. Every motion, action, word was laden. She felt immersed in these things, almost painfully so.

With care, he slid his hand around to the small of her back, and she felt her breath still for fear of being the one to somehow ruin this night. Her eyes locked on the buttons of his white shirt that showed from beneath his coat. And she realized he had done without his black frock coat. This coat, it was not the one she saw him in for school functions. This was the roomier one that he wore with her.

He pressed no closer, but softly, he told her, "Tell me when you are ready. I will Apparate us to a suitable place for dinner." She breathed deeply then and smiled, relieved of much of her anxiety by his simple statement, by the knowledge that there was effort behind his actions.

"Thank you," she said. She stepped closer to lay her hands on his lapels so that she would not fall when they Re-apparated.

The disorientation was not at all as bad as on their previous time out. Still, she held her eyes closed, and her head felt motionless only if she rested it on his chest. She did not try to move until her faint dizziness left her.

He considered the weight of her head upon his chest, the way her hair contrasted with the black of his coat, the shine that caught in it. He tried to dispel the recurring thought that her hair could remorselessly suffocate a man in mere seconds.

A young lover would want so little more from life than this... to have a woman rely on him like this. Right? To touch him like this?

_Damned if I know what makes idiots happy, _he thought.

He chided himself then, _can you take no joy or pride in it?_ So, he did not move. He did not act impatient and he endeavored not to feel it. He waited, catalogued the feelings, fostered the ones that were weak. Opened himself to it. This willingness to protect. These simple touches that were anything but. If he was only someone else, he lamented.

With a sigh, she raised her head and stepped back. They crossed the street and she saw the restaurant he silently indicated was all windows. It seemed unusually busy, he noted looking through the glass. He stood there to consider this choice and then, with irritation, he realized she had stepped through the door already - leaving him behind.

A Celtic trio played enthusiastically, and she wanted to get a closer look at them. She stepped toward the small stage. Smiling, she watched the young woman playing the bodhrán. Sensing someone near her, she looked to see who had come to stand at her elbow. She found herself staring up into the sweet blue eyes of a young puck. Drink in hand, he asked her her name and smiled too broadly. Then, his eyes focused beyond her and his face began to pale. A knot pulled at her stomach as she turned to see Severus predictably glaring down at them.

_Saturday was apparently now band night_, he said to himself with distaste, _and apparently one must endure their groupies as well._ He cast a look at the group on the platform before considering the young pair in front of him again. The younger man nodded and stepped away, but Hermione moved closer to Severus despite his frightening demeanor. "There you are," she said with forced cheerfulness as she laid a calming hand to his cheek. "You know," she whispered through her smiling features, "you look like you are about to eat him. Muggles hate that."

He just stared at her. Hermione tried hard not to see an oxen breathing steam from its nostrils as she looked up at him. It was an unfortunate image, one she had seen as a child in a television cartoon. She considered closing her eyes to try to rid herself of it, but she felt better if she watched him.

_Men,_ she groaned inwardly and tried not to shudder. They could act like normal humans only up to a point and then - without warning - something would trigger the whole sniffing, snarling, urinating to mark territory thing.

So many girls at school spent all their time hoping to snare some boy. Do some .... whatever it was they wanted to do in some dark corner. _Not me_, she thought. She wasn't even sure how exciting the prospect of sex could possibly be when it involved one of those people who could become so ox-breathing-steam insane without warning. Every time she got lulled into thinking that her friendships with those persons who owned penises seemed perfectly fine, things got messy. _You don't suppose I'm gay_, she said to herself as her eyes lost focus..... Followed by, _You don't think I said that out loud?_

_And when was the last time anything seemed perfectly fine?_ her brain hormone-addled brain continued to prod. _One could not even pretend with Severus Snape. Just look at him._ And she did.. Causing her to be snagged by a random thought.

Perfectly fine. Fine? Well, that described his hair certainly. Not his life.

He had taught for too many years not to recognize that stare. _Brain death,_ he surmised.

"Miss Granger," he said again for effect.

She jumped backwards.

"What?!" she accused. "I was just thinking..." she said, but she could not help blushing.

He need say nothing. His eyebrow ably accused her. Interrogated her.

"I was just wondering what sort of hair the baby will have," she explained quietly with a wince of embarrassment.

He still said nothing but she took offense based on the look she got from him. "I do not choose these thoughts willingly," she objected. "They just come to me. I think it's a sort of pregnancy ...brain ...parasite... thing."

"We should sit," he said with a tired eye roll. And he led her to a table.

"Did you bring more jokes?" he accused.

"I might have," she said, ignoring his mood and quirking a half smile.

Slowly, her cheeky smile spread until it took over her face and lit her eyes. He found he was caught by it as well. A whisper of happiness, just a whisper, caught at him when the sound of her banter began in his head.

She noticed then how he had pushed his hair back tonight. It showed more of his face. A bit more. Normally, he hid behind the long hair. Didn't he? she realized. But the message in the brushed out hair and the crisp white collarless shirt was there. "I'm trying," it said.

She recognized his effort because _**she**_ had put a disconcerting amount of thought into tonight. She had fussed over her hair, finally pulling the sides back hoping to look more mature. She had put on enough make up for it to be noticeable. And a bit of a citrusy perfume that made her feel foolishly alluring. Then there was the sweater that her mirror had warned was barely containing her increasing bosom.

Looking at him, she got that queer little feeling in her stomach that was unmistakeable. _When did this become a first date? _she asked herself.

His eyes looked at her more quizzically than disapprovingly. He saw the slight fluttering of nerves in her. The effect reminded him of how young she was and his demons settled on him once again. _You would rather be here with him_, his glance over to the younger man's table seemed to say.

"You can not be more wrong," he heard her say. "I have no interest in him. There is more going on right now than he could ever handle." That she did not wish to tie her fate to ANY members of the penis-wearing persuasion for the moment, she left unsaid. She searched his face hoping the ghost of a smile would return. Then, summoning her inner teen-vamp, she leaned halfway over the table on her elbows. The effort was unmistakably an invitation for a bolder man to kiss her.

"You should not be so brazen. Nor so easily read," he told her with distaste. He reached for the small paper menu on the table and handed it to her. "How hungry are you?" he asked flatly.

She was _**willing**_ to kiss him. But, that was not the same thing as _**wanting**_ to kiss him. Was that what he meant? _Was he that perceptive? _she wondered.

They fell into a silence his brain could not help but fill. That book Minerva had foisted on him had been, well... enlightening. He didn't want to admit it, but there was a great deal more in there than he had expected. He had woken early and once he had given up on sleep, he had thumbed through the book prepared to be underwhelmed.

He found instead what purported to be the means to navigating the emotional minefield of pregnant women and a guide to keeping them physically pleased. The book reminded him to 'relearn' his woman. To continue to take the time to please her. And to highlight foreplay as a means of reassuring her that she was still attractive.

He read it all. Twice. As he had spent his (rather sad and unimaginative) sex life focused on a rather rapid relief of his own needs, what he read was enticing.... The book made it sound so formulaic. Could it really be that easy? Just a series of steps?

"Talk to her," the book explained. "Hint about what is to come. Tease her. Remember that the brain is a major sex organ." His banter with Hermione was, he admitted, frequently an enjoyable thing. And she did, most decidedly, have a brain. But he had never really thought of that as a help in bedding a woman. And despite what seemed to be his subconscious' efforts, he had not intended to try to bed her.

"Begin it in public!" another paragraph from his book had offered. THAT was asking too much, he believed. But, wasn't that what she was doing he wondered as he looked at her now over the top of his menu? He considered her more closely. He could not deny the power of it. That she had so openly touched him and leaned across toward him broadcast to everyone that she was "with" him.

He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. The way it could make a man feel was heady stuff.

After dinner, they walked the sidewalk in silence, seeming to have no destination in mind. She had caught him lost in his thoughts when she stopped. "Would you mind?" she said, giving a nod in the direction of the book store she saw.

She was prepared to be lectured for her bookish nature. Instead, he took her elbow in a gentlemanly gesture and walked her to the shop's door. "Are you looking for something specific," he asked as he held the door.

"Inspiration," she said in a slightly exasperated voice. "Oh, not anything religious necessarily," she laughed. "Just something ... new to get my brain working again."

Just when he thought her attention was lost to the shelves of books, he heard her ask, "What did you do at school?"

"What do you mean?"

"When you were a student..." she said finally looking at him. "I picture you as very studious...because now you are mostly serious and very intelligent..."

"_**Mostly**_ serious?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Mostly. Yes," she teased. "Except when you are being wickedly sarcastic and sardonic," she said with a smile.

"I kept to myself. I read. It filled the time," he admitted. "The school work was not overly demanding and I was not exactly popular," he said bluntly with no apology to his voice.

"I certainly do not count myself as popular," she said wistfully. "There are a few people obviously who are my friends. But that's it. And sometimes I wonder how we three manage as friends."

"Because you are extraordinarily patient with them," he said simply. "And you willingly share your talents. Patience was not something I had at your age. And most people would rather guard their talents than be as giving as you are."

Her reaction took him by surprise. Slowly, a shy smile pulled at her lips and Hermione touched his arm as she told him, "Thank you."

He was fairly certain his subconscious had just perform a Foreplay Paragraph One: "Talk to her." And the results were pretty stellar. _**If**_ he had been trying to get her into bed, that is. After last night's little blow out with his other selves, he had decided he should at least avoid provoking the girl and should restrain his anger. His undersexed, inner self, however, was deciding to exercise its undersized talents.

##

They Apparated to the Hogwarts gate together, an unnecessary thing, but one that she seemed to expect. He pulled the hood up on her coat, although that would hardly hide her identity they both knew. Then, as they walked, he had looked over at her and wondered, had she lingered against him longer than necessary after they had Re-apparated? Was she developing a... fondness for him? Or a fondness for a warm body to see her through this task?

Likely, she was merely a consummate actress who had thrown herself into this role.

It shouldn't matter, he tried to tell himself. And it wouldn't have, if he hadn't started to have doubts about how he felt about her. It was the urge to protect, he had decided. But that did not explain it all. It was a whimsical reaction to the mechanics of what he had read in the pregnancy book, perhaps. It was a weakness, he warned himself. A willingness to indulge himself and pretend he could know what being wanted felt like, what feeling normal was.

"Persistant?" he accused as she sidled up next to him while he unwarded his door.

"Sorry," she murmured, more cheeky than repentant. Ducking her head and smiling, she squeezed past him into his rooms.

"You must have rounds to do, people to meet with. A cat to feed? Haven't you been missed?" he asked with mock concern.

"I have. But it will not have been a very credible affair if - when people look back - they don't all claim they _**knew**_ we were sneaking around together."

There was something in the familiar way that he took her coat for her tonight and hung it by the door. A growing ease that seemed stronger than the nervous awareness in them both.

"I'm really tired. Could we just talk in the other room?" she felt comfortable enough to ask him. He nodded and watched as she walked into his bedroom. The room was rather spartan and so the addition of the brightly colored book to his bureau caught her eye.

"Severus?" she asked carefully, as she picked up the book on pregnancy.

"Minerva McGonagall," he growled.

"She sent me a book, too. I thought it was sweet," Hermione objected lightly.

"Minerva is many things. But merely sweet? No. There is usually another motive and a good measure of mischief behind even the 'sweetest' of her actions."

Hermione knew not to touch the other book on the bureau. It had a worn, cracked cover and the edges were turned up from use. Its place on the bureau's top seemed very intentional. This was something he treasured, she realized.

"The other book?" she asked lightly as she moved to sit on the bed. "Its a collection of poems."

She was asking much more than that, they both knew.

"Yes," he merely said.

She kicked off her shoes and with a heavy sigh, she worked her way into his bed, burrowing under the covers and wriggling to get comfortable.

He ran a finger over the book and then he recited in a low voice.

_'In headaches and in worry_

_Vaguely life leaks away,_

_And Time will have his fancy_

_To-morrow or to-day_

"Who is that?" she asked.

"Auden," he told her.

"What I remember most from Auden are his poems about the muggle second world war. The images were so powerful. The pain in it was so palpable."

He picked up the book and walked to the bed. Later he would not be sure why he had done it. Her shared knowledge of Auden? The way she had wandered the aisles in the bookstore looking for 'inspiration' only to come away empty handed? Or the intimacy he craved and found seeing a woman innocently under the covers of his bed?

"It's a beautiful book," she said when he handed it to her. "I have the same one. A much newer edition though." She looked up and saw him pulling off his shoes and then pulling down the covers on the other side of the bed. He meant to crawl into bed fully dressed as well, she saw.

"It was my mother's," he said as he rolled onto his side to face her.

Reverently, she turned the pages of the book, smiling as she looked through it. She turned her head to look at him, telling him "I started reading poetry over the summer a few years ago. I had an old book my dad had used in university. At first, it was as if the poems were coded. The vocabulary and the history were beyond me. But I liked the idea of working to decipher them. And then at the end you would have something short that really contained an immense amount information."

"Information? But what do you make of the _**message**_?" he asked her. His eyes flicked then to the page she held open with her hand. The poem he had noted minutes ago was Andrew Marvell's "To His Coy Mistress," an entertaining inducement to giving up one's virginity.

"I thought he made his case incompletely. Well, from a woman's point of view, surely. Perhaps a man thinks it sufficient to merely says 'hurry up, there is no time to waste, let's go to bed.' But a woman would prefer a better inducement."

"Oh? And what should he have said?" Severus queried in a voice that sounded far too much like something recommended by that book on verbal foreplay for him to be comfortable.

"Well..." she said thoughtfully before she gave him a sly smile and slid her eyes toward the floor. "He could have explained that it would be.... enjoyable."

"You are blushing," he teased. And gently he reached over to relieve her of the book. He began to read:

_Let us roll all our strength and all_

_Our sweetness up into one ball,_

_And tear our pleasures with rough strife_

_Thorough the iron gates of life:_

_Thus, though we cannot make our sun_

_Stand still, yet we will make him run._

"No," she answered with a near shudder. "Oh, he uses the word 'pleasure,' but the words we 'coy virgins' hear are 'tear,' 'rough,' and 'run.' "

"Fair enough, my coy mistress," he said with a bit of humor in his tone. "I will not ply you to relinquish your virginity."

"Because you find me unattractive or because you know I would not refuse?" she forced herself to ask.

"You are my student. You are under my protection. Because I have some small measure of pride left, perhaps? And your being willing to _**endure**_ something is no inducement to passion. Do not offer yourself to me like some whore that Dumbledore has provided."

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "When you told me weeks ago that there was a veritable host of sluts, as you called them, warming your bed, I thought you were a different man."

"And so now, are you deluded into thinking I am an honorable man?" he said with distaste. "Because I lie about my sex life?"

"I think you are complicated. And more honorable than many I know. There are people who would make me feel less of a person because I haven't had sex. And so sometimes I feel virginity is something to be dispensed with," she told him.

"You are no better than Andrew Marvell then? You would rush for the sake of rushing?"

"I have felt time slipping away as Marvell says. I have felt as if we have risked our lives without really being allowed to live and enjoy them. And I've wondered... how good it could possibly be. Not just the sex, but...." she said shrugging.

"You want to be in love," he said. But he was not scoffing at her. _Romanticizing,_ he said only to himself. _Do not crush her. Do not tell her life guarantees no happiness. Do not tell her that love is just as easily lost as found._ _Don't_, he told himself. And he rolled away from her and squeezed his eyes tight.

"Doesn't everyone want to be loved?" she asked carefully.

"I don't know," he said, testily. "I try so hard to feel as little as possible. I've told you that before."

"You told me before that you felt nothing, that is very different than....."

"Go to sleep," he growled.

She was pushing again, she realized. "I don't say the right things. I know. I'm sorry. I ..."

"Andromeda? Sleep."

"Forgiven?" she asked.

"Forgiven. But, you cannot worry about whether you are always forgiven anymore. You can't give others that control over you. You can't let them make you feel a certain way about your choices.... about being a 'coy virgin' for instance," he said with a touch of lightness to his voice. "I trust your judgment more that many people's. Do you not trust yourself?..."

She pulled in closer to him to lightly and quickly hug him in thanks.

"Don't you sleep?" he complained.

#%&

Finally, she did sleep. Hearing her slow, deep breaths at his back, he turned to spy on her. The shadows and the sleep created a still, serene quality to her that was not, he noted with a sly smile, usually there.

He could not fix so much of what was wrong with his life and his world. But could he at least appreciate this? This brief experience he was being handed? Would he be able to realize it was all the more precious for being undeserved and unexpected. Or would he turn his back on what nature or their maker had gifted to them right here?

The words came to him with little prompting.

_Lay your sleeping head, my love,_

_Human on my faithless arm;_

_Time and fevers burn away_

_Individual beauty from_

_Thoughtful children, and the grave_

_Proves the child ephemeral:_

_But in my arms till break of day_

_Let the living creature lie,_

_Mortal, guilty, but to me_

_The entirely beautiful._

Auden. Had Auden shared a bed with an innocent thing such as this? Had he been prepared to see only the desperation in life, but in the stillness of the night had he been caught out by the instinct in man for hope? By the beauty nature gave? By simplicity?

He had wrongly enjoyed (if that was the word) Auden for his ability to bring intelligent light to sadness and pain. Reading Auden could make Severus feel he was not alone in seeing things stripped bare.

But looking at Hermione and hearing the poet in his brain, he wondered if it wasn't perhaps his duty as a thinking man to do more. To see beauty? Not to promote illusion, not to be blind to reality and its often ugly side. But to let beauty and hope be there in the quiet spaces where they could.

Leaning closer, he pulled in her perfume. And smiled. He closed his eyes as it came to him. That scent. It was young and energetic. Cocky. And completely at odds with the vision of the silent, exhausted woman curled up in his bed.

With a single finger, he reached to touch a curl. To prod it until it was wound around his finger as if it belonged there.

He studied the shadows that softened her face. He noticed she was pouting a bit , even now in her dreams, as if her mind was still turning some problem. _Is it me?_ he wondered. Without thinking, he let his finger leave her hair to trace her lip.

_The right man_, he thought. _He would kiss you. You would think of nothing else when he did_. _No other thoughts. Just the pulse of joy. That feeling might just be the reward for daring to see beyond life's limitations._ _Someday you..._

As lowly as he always regarded his own life, how could any man not feel some hope at this sight ? A pregnant woman sweetly sleeping in his bed? There was a chance for that child, wasn't there? That the child would survive. Know love, perhaps. Know beauty, as well as truth. Have a normal life.

Why were they doing any of this, if they didn't carry at least a shred of hope?

* * *

**A/N:** W.H. Auden.

AS I WALKED OUT ONE EVENING and LAY YOUR SLEEPING HEAD MY LOVE


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: This is the last of my "T" chapters. After this has been up a bit, I will change the rating on this story to MATURE and will post the next chapter.

Hopefully this will not cause confusion. Sigh.

I suppose you should all just put this story on ALERT so you do not lose me! :)

* * *

She opened her eyes feeling as if she hadn't slept at all. Decidedly awake, but utterly exhausted. The pregnancy book had said fatigue was inevitable, but she never thought it possible to wake up and be so tired.

Even before her eyes cleared, she was aware of his motion across the room. He was nearly dressed already. In his persona as the potions professor, he was not a man to shrink away from another's gaze. But here his eyes focused on his buttons as if to avoid her, she thought.

"There's tea and crackers in the other room," he said simply.

Slowly, with stretches and a small groan, she made her way to the sitting room. The nausea was more of a light and constant annoyance now that she was starting her second trimester. It was not the sort of thing that would cause her to run for the loo any more. But the tea and crackers would help settle her, she knew.

She smiled when she saw it, the nicely arranged tray there on the cabinet. A warm pot of tea. A basket with a variety of fresh crackers.

_Ginger tea_, she thought with surprise as it warmed the back of her throat. All the pregnancy books recommended that for morning sickness. The realization seemed to settle on her slowly that he had gotten this for her specially. She wanted to say something, but looking at him, she couldn't. It would not pay him back at all to make him feel uncomfortable over what he had done, to remark on his kindness when he seemed to want it to be invisible.

He is a complicated man, her mind reminded her as she watched him from the door way between the two rooms. A good man to try this hard at this awkward play. Suddenly she realized she had been staring. And dawdling. She shook herself as she watched him standing in the corner of the room, fishing through a stack of books. Likely just a pretense to avoid her, she thought.

"Thank you," she murmured to his back. "I'll be going."

He froze then and listened for her footfalls leaving for the sitting room. He chastised himself then. _Face this _, he told himself. _And watch the woman go. Are you afraid?_ he asked himself as he took slow steps toward the sitting room. _Afraid you made a fool of yourself last night... with your poetry and the thoughts you had._

She had played the game, too, he told himself. The touch she had laid to his face. The offer she had made. The way she had looked and smelled.

He set his jaw. _Guard against distraction, eh Snape? And don't give those things a power over you they don't deserve. Just a girl. A silly, pretentious, pushy, wisp of a thing. See?_ he reassured himself watching her nervous movements in front of the fire. You faced the miasma that threatened to undo you, and you found it to be just a girl.

But what if he was wrong?

What if she was not the threat? It was not what she would do to him. No. It was what he would come to _**want**_ her to do... His dormant desires were what he would need to watch.

She pulled the Floo powder from the canister and stepped to dash some into the grate. And then she faltered, seized up. Normally not an impulsive person, Hermione decided to yield in this case, and she stepped back.

He looked at her quizzically, but she said nothing. Instead, she closed the distance between them. Finally then, she put her arms around his shoulders. Her touch was light at first, as if she was afraid to draw attention to her arms' presence on him. "Thank you," she said as she thought about the man she now realized him to be. Gradually, she rose onto her toes and pressed a light kiss to his lips. Frozen there, he barely responded.

Easing back for a moment, she did not release him. Just breathed him in.

She thought about everything he risked. She thought about his loneliness, his brilliance, his pain. She even thought about the crackers and the tea... and she turned it into a kiss. Relief came when he did not reject her, but instead kissed her at last. His tentative hand came up to gently stroke her face. Gradually, but firmly, he pulled back from her.

"Finally," she whispered shakily. She dropped her chin shyly to her chest. Flushed and near panicked, she turned and dashed the Floo powder she still held into the fire. And she was gone.

Passing his finger tips over his lips as if he still felt her touch there, he wondered what had just happened. His brow was pinched in confusion. It was a kiss, yes. But the girl had kissed _**him**_. She had initiated it, pressed up against him, had looked at him.... like..... _**that**_.

He was mocked as The Celibate among the Death Eaters. They had given up on him enjoying their revels. He was the thinker, the quiet elitist. Their token monk.

He stood there staring at his fireplace, still running his hand across his lips and tried to recall the last time he had even bothered to buy a prostitute. A year ago, maybe?

And prostitutes did not kiss you. It had been years now since he had given up the complete lie that was the expensive escorts who would act as a real lover. Talk and kiss and try to smile up at you as they lay in your bed.

The prostitutes offered sex only - that was a much more honest arrangement. But it was still a painful way to meet that need. And the further he slipped into depression, the less he even registered any need at all. He may have played the part of the celibate at first, but now he had become it.

She had kissed him, he thought again. He wanted to trivialize it. To forget it. But he couldn't, if only because the part of him that enjoyed punishing himself wanted to dwell. _She's only playing a part. Her kisses mean nothing. The only woman to kiss you without money involved in years, but she's only here at Dumbledore's insistence... it means nothing. And if you think it does, you are a fool._

God, he hated his life.

There was anger and agitation in him as he stalked to the Great Hall for breakfast. His snarl in place, he found he could relieve much of his emotional discomfort by taking points from students he saw in the halls.

He approached the teacher's entrance behind the Great Hall just as Minerva did. She moved to block him from reaching the door and surveyed him. She looked concerned as she saw the lines in his face, the scowl that he threatened to make permanent. But then her eyes drifted and she reached for his shoulder, "You have Floo powder on your shoulder," she whispered.

It was not a recrimination. Just a statement. And she moved to clean it for him. The Deputy Headmistress considered their relative positions, her hand on his shoulder to brush it away, the two of them face to face, and she had a mental picture of what had likely occurred in his quarters. "I've never seen a man look so murderous over a kiss," she said quietly.

His eyes flashed to hers, but he said nothing. "It was just a guess, Severus. She said nothing of it when I saw her this morning," Minerva assured him. She gripped his upper arms but he would not look at her. "The two of you are alone in this. If she has formed an attachment to you.... " Her thoughts trailed off then as she began to worry about what she was proposing. Finally, she asked him, "Surely it is unwise to make this more complicated than it is already?"

"Neither the time, NOR the place..." he growled as he pulled his arms from the witch and pushed roughly through the door to breakfast.

He took up his seat at the long table, but Minerva remained standing, her eyes on Hermione as she entered the Hall. The open book Hermione held as she walked seemed a prop, something to take the place of the companions who were with her less and less.

Hermione slowed as she reached her table, and as she lowered her satchel to the ground, she quickly looked up to seek out Severus. Her cheeks were red and her eyes seemed so worried and afraid.

Minerva shook her head a bit, sad to see the girl so distressed, while Severus pretended not to notice her at all.

"Where have you been?" Ginny asked. "Ron and Harry have already eaten and gone." Ginny fired off her recriminations before Hermione had even managed to take her seat.

With a sigh, Hermione eased herself down. This new body. This one she shared with the child inside, it took things a little slower. It did not like to be just tossed down for breakfast with the carefree, expressive flop she had been capable of only 2 months back.

"I don't know, Ginny," Hermione said lamely. "I got waylaid... trying to figure something out."

"You are working on something? Can't you tell me what it is?" Ginny whispered.

"I'm not," the older girl objected. "Really. I'm just ... I'm just not myself, Ginny. I'm sorry. Things are so confused right now. And there is nothing I can do to fix them."

"Do you mean Harry and Ron and whatever they are getting ready to do?" Ginny said quietly but excitedly. "Are you helping them? Because they won't tell me what is going on..."

Hermione shook her head desperately. Swallowed hard. "No. I'm not helping. I'm no help. Not this term. Not this year."

"I think you've been working too hard," Ginny told her worriedly.

A sharp, derisive laugh leapt out of Hermione and drew a dozen sets of eyes to her. "I can't even tell you what essays I have due. What my grades are... " she said flustered. "I'm just trying to get through it all, Ginny. Just get through..." Feeling she had already said too much, she stood so abruptly that she set her head to spinning.

"Hermione, sit down. You are scaring me," Ginny hissed.

The one hand she rested on the table was like a life line. It kept her rooted as her thoughts and vision spun. She felt, rather than heard, Neville's gentle voice calling out to her above a din of noise. But when she opened her eyes, she looked right passed him and could only see Severus Snape.

And he did not look happy.

**###**

She had thought herself a patient person, but waiting without knowing WHAT you were waiting for was proving nearly impossible. And it was not just that this situation called on her to occasionally tell lies to her friends. At this point she felt as if her every waking moment was a lie. Harry and Ron had started to nearly ignore her. But then, Harry was obviously preoccupied. He was nervous and hiding something, too.

Ginny looked at her lately as if she was calculating. Examining her. The red head's eyes were always wide and full of questions. And still caring. Somehow that made it worse. She could see Ginny still cared about her, still hoped to salvage this friendship. And Hermione knew she had not even begun to hurt her. Not the way it would hurt when everything became known.

But just when would that be, for pity's sake?

Hermione just wanted to get it over with at this point. And she couldn't. She had become a tool in this war. And she was not even a tool anyone felt should be told HOW or WHEN it was to be used.

_Patience._ She reminded herself as she tried to soothe the ache in her head with her hands.

It had been a little over a week since they had last been out together. Since they had last been something to each other besides student and professor. The way her brain usually phrased it, when she had this thought 10 or more times a day, was:

_It has been a little over a week since I kissed him._

She wanted to grab Ginny and tell her. You see Professor Snape? I kissed that man. I got up out of his bed and the unpredictable bastard or saint - whatever he is - had gotten me tea and crackers.

The night before I had rested my head against his chest and felt surety. Not nervousness. We had talked about poetry and sex! That man. There. His child is in me. ME. And exhausted I just crawled into his bed. And felt.... alright. Nothing amazing or profound. But not scared. He was not himself that morning, I think. Or he just wasn't the man we think he is. And now it has been a week since I kissed him and he has done nothing. Sent me no note. Said no word to me that a proper professor wouldn't say. Nothing.

_But I swear, for just a moment, that man kissed me back._

The silence, this inaction couldn't continue much longer. He had to know that. Her body was telling her that. These twinges. The distraction she felt. The belly that seemed to hang there as if she had just eaten the most outrageous Christmas dinner. She was pregnant and it was getting harder to hide.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author note: **

**Many thanks to Selmak who has been a great deal of help with this story. She assures me this chapter is not TOO racy. It is however..... MATURE. I apologize to those of you who were in this only for a T rated story. More and more, however, I find this sliding into adult concepts. **

**Do feel free to reassure me about this change of rating and the addition of mature content, as I am prone to worry. :(**

* * *

It was a Sunday and December was half gone already. She was almost 15 weeks pregnant by the little calendar her book had made for her. And finally, finally it seemed the plan was moving forward. But what it involved, she could not be sure. Severus had alerted her by owl to the trip, and she had been relieved to get the message despite the annoyance of the eyes on her at breakfast.

They traveled to Diagon Alley together on that Sunday afternoon. Near the shortest day of the year, it was already getting dark when they arrived.

They stood on the cobblestone in front of a bookstore and he told her, "You won't want for books soon." And he set off walking, making her step quickly to catch him.

Being so close to learning what was going to happen, she couldn't be mad at him. Plus it was almost Christmas. There were decorations, wreaths and berries everywhere. The air smelled different to her this time of year. Even the most ridiculous things seemed possible. Everything had changed and she was unreasonably hopeful.

This man she walked with, he was not the man he had been. Or, perhaps, she had new eyes.

Her confidence in him made her feel warm and safe when she traveled beside him. Protected. There were few Wizards who were a match for him - that she had always known. He was a capable, powerful man. His reflexes were quick and his judgment sound. It felt good to be with him, to see how his body hummed and bristled, always aware.

He looked at her briefly now, and she decided it was his eyes that had changed first. They were insightful and soulful now. Not suspicious or punishing. His hands, she now knew, were warm. They were solid and sure when they touched her. Never lingering. Never groping.

She cast a sideways glance at him as they walked. If smart was sexy. If silent was alluring. If funny was beautiful. If restraint from a man could make you want him more that the best kisses...

...then she was _**lost**_.

He seemed to be looking for something. Or waiting for something, she couldn't decide. They walked first on one side of the street and then the other.

He twined his fingers through hers as they turned to take an alley, and she couldn't help but squeeze his hand. She could feel his eyes on her then, questioning. Examining.

But he stopped abruptly at the end of the alley. "That shop there is Hecate's Discreet Book Dealings. Some would say it belongs in Knockturn Alley," he advised her quietly. "I am going to speak with the proprietor again and confirm that you will be here by Christmas."

_By Christmas,_ she thought and she chilled, finally having a sense of when things would happen.

"You will wait for me in the Leaky Cauldron," he whispered, pointing back to the main street. Before she could turn away from him, he took her arm to hold her there and after an uncomfortable pause, he placed his black scarf around her neck. Neither moved, neither spoke, until he finally took up the scarf's one tail and looped it gently over her shoulder. She did not understand the gesture, but it pleased her.

*******

Pushing through the inn's door, she felt the warmth fold around her. She walked to the bar as she wrestled her way out of her coat, happily leaving Severus' scarf around her neck. With a tug to her jumper she tried to ensure it would not cling where her stomach was protruding.

She took her tea back to a booth, walking carefully with her coat over her arm. Once she was seated, she allowed herself to relax with a sigh. With her hands around the warm cup, she closed her eyes for a moment.

With a snap, the gold tip cane flew in front of her and onto the table, spilling her tea. She drew in a startled breath and shrunk against her seat.

It was Lucius Malfoy. He was much too pleased to have found her here and he was not about to let her go until he was through with her. His cane moved now to restrict her exit from the booth, and he leaned in slowly, exaggerating the movement.

"A student. The Head Girl, I believe. Out in Diagon Alley. How very, very odd. Christmas shopping?" he drawled. "I want you to guess what I want for Christmas..."

She looked past Malfoy to the man who had just arrived. "Severus," she breathed with relief.

"To one side, Malfoy. I don't have time for this," Severus complained, feigning boredom and sounding as if Malfoy was merely standing between him and a buffet.

"Curious...." Malfoy began moving his gaze from the one to the other.

"Come on, woman," Severus said reaching into the booth and taking her hand. He drew her out and then once she was standing in front of him, he retrieved his scarf from around her neck. An action which made Hermione smile up at him shamelessly. Severus impatiently motioned to her coat and then helped her on with it.

Seeing Malfoy's lecherous expression, Severus merely said, "Do not bother her again, Malfoy. Get you own."

"I didn't realize Dumbledore was just handing them out, Severus, or I would have... Oh, I would have," Malfoy said in a near moan as he passed his cane over his lips. "You professors and your.... perks," he smiled.

Severus took up her hand again once they were outside. "You _**knew**_ we would run into him," she accused quietly as she leaned into him conspiratorially. Her free hand flew to her chest to gage her heart rate. They stopped a block down the street from the Leaky Cauldron so Severus could look back.

"No. I knew that if we visited here often enough, we would run into him. Never did I imagine it would be this easy," he said with a satisfied smile.

"Easy? He scared the hell out of me," she said as she reached up to adjust his scarf as he had for her earlier. Enjoying touching him, she then made to needlessly smooth his coat.

"He's on his way out," Severus said by way of explaining why he was suddenly pressing into her. "Pretend you adore me," he growled.

He bent his head to bury his face harmlessly in her hair. But she pulled at his chin to lift his gaze to hers.

He paused there, confused, his lips inches from hers. She was trembling now, but he misread it. "He will not dare harm you," he said quickly. "You know that. He would not do anything so plain. It is ...." He stopped then as he tried to understand what was going on with her.

_I am making things worse. My God, she's acting ridiculously frightened..._.

Would he kiss her? she wondered. She willed herself not to be the one to begin it. To wait for him. But subconsciously, she was already rising on her toes and lifting her chin to him.

He turned his head to get a glimpse of Malfoy, the blonde hair clearly visible from quite a distance. The man was walking away from them down the street. "He's leaving. It's done," Severus said, and he released her arms and stepped back from her. She let out an involuntary groan at the loss of his touch and dropped her head into her gloves, embarrassed.

"I know that damn pregnancy book said you would cry at the drop of a hat, but I didn't realize it was OBLIGATORY," he complained.

"I feel like such an idiot," she said bitterly, backing away.

Gently, attempting to reign in his impatience, he asked her, "Because you were afraid?"

"No," she told him angrily. "God, you are blind. Because I wanted you to kiss me. And you left me standing there."

He continued to look at her expecting she would blame it on hormones or the play acting, but she didn't. At a loss for what to do with her admission, he finally told her, "We should get back. We can Floo from...."

"Severus.... " the ache in it stopped him and drew his eyes back to her. "I don't want to go back."

He groaned with impatience and pinched at his brow. "Don't you get tired of making demands on me?" he asked with sharp disbelief. "You _**want**_ to be kissed? You don't _**want**_ to go back? Being Hermione Granger you are, perhaps, accustomed to always getting what you _**want**_." He narrowed his eyes at her and shook his head as if contemplating a mystery he had never encountered before.

"Malfoy has left," he continued. "This incredibly asinine plan is happening without us now....." He breathed hard and lifted his head to the sky in exasperation. He just wanted to retreat to his rooms and wait for the call he knew would come.

With disbelief he felt her step closer to him. Methodically, she pulled at his coat and insinuated herself beneath it.

"I don't understand you," he said quietly.

"Take us back then, if that is what you want," she said quietly.

His burden was wrapped about him quite literally now it seemed. What a strange little thing she was.

"Infuriating. Demanding. Carping," he spat. He paused and she felt his hand at her shoulder, "Pushy little Andromeda," he whispered. "Maybe that was why your namesake got herself tied to a rock in the ocean!"

She tightened her grasp, knowing he meant to Apparate them.

When the spinning in her brain and belly stopped, she opened her eyes. They were alone on a hillside. A strange building was a black silhouette behind them.

"Worth Hill Observatory," he explained.

"Unbelievable," she told him as she turned in a slow circle and looked at the expanse of stars. "It's amazing!"

He wouldn't wait a moment longer. She gasped with surprise when he grabbed her hand to pull her into him. "Spiteful," he said in a light voice.

"What?" she asked sounding defensive.

"Me," he answered slyly as his hand worked around her waist. "I've been spiteful. Why shouldn't I give you what you want?"

He brushed at her cheek in warning and then touched his lips to hers briefly. And then again. And again. All the while he was reminding himself that he was playing a ridiculous game...

But then, tomorrow he might be dead.

"Tomorrow...." he tried to begin.

"I know," she told him. "Just a little time?" she insisted. "Let's not face it all just yet."

With the first deep kiss she let out a hum to match the thrill she felt. She closed out any thought of the future. She put her mind to memorizing the feel of him. The taste of his kisses. She wanted to always remember this, the cold on her cheeks. The stars. This hill.

Greedily, her fingers traced his neck and face, while her mind worked to hold the smell of him. She worked with a desperation the young shouldn't know.

He stopped and looked at her, amazed at her reactions. Briefly he considered the possibility that Dumbledore had placed her under some charm to ensure she responded to him physically. Her hand traveled to the back of his neck and as she smiled at him, her hand urged him to her. And against the reasoning of his mind, he relented.

They kissed until the cold became undeniable.

Then he asked in a silky, insinuating voice, "Was there anything ELSE you wanted?"

"When we get back," she asked shyly, "are we going to.... you know?"

"So elegantly put...." he teased.

"I want..."

He kissed her to shut her up. And as he ended it, he pulled her to turn with him, Apparating them back to Hogwarts.

"You want too much," he told her simply as she rested her head against his chest.

"It's not a game to me," she murmured.

He could only shake his head in answer.

They entered through the door near the dungeon. He did not object when wordlessly she followed him into his rooms. There was nothing to say. There was just the worry and the need.

He forsook the whiskey in the corner and walked slowly for his bedroom, peeling off the layers of outer wear as he went. She walked behind him pulling off her coat and gloves, her emotions so high she could hear her own breathing even as she tried to still it. While he washed up in the bathroom, she slowly pulled off her jumper and started on the buttons of her shirt. Afraid to finish too soon in case she had misread him, she worked to take much more time than she needed.

In the bathroom, he stopped, hand on the doorknob to consider his feet. The socks. He remembered an odd article he had seen in a confiscated copy of The Active Wizard's Journal. "Nothing turns women off more than a man wearing nothing but socks," the article had warned, "Take them off first." He groaned at the notion that he was actually applying anything he had read in that trashy magazine - then he ripped his socks off and tossed them in the corner.

Her eyes grew large as she peeked up and saw him walk toward her. His trousers were open at the top and his shirt was untucked, hanging loose and unbuttoned. She walked for the bed and pulled off her shirt. Her back to him, she undid the button on her trousers only to feel his hands on her arms.

"Don't," he whispered, stopping her. "I'm half out of my mind as it is."

His words froze her. The tone, the meaning behind them, were frightening and exhilarating all at once. She was in so far over her head, she knew.

But she was exactly where she needed to be.

His chest pressed lightly against her bare back. That simple touch was more intimate than anything she had ever experienced.

She had asked where this was headed, he reminded himself. Shouldn't he answer HIMSELF at least? What were they doing... going to do? It was not as if he had to worry about getting her pregnant after all, he thought as his fingers traced her arms and then her belly.

But she was still his student.

And a virgin. If he was going to end up dead, wasn't it better that she save her first time for someone else? He released her and she shuddered, feeling cold suddenly. Wordlessly, he climbed into the bed and extended a hand to her. She should stay a virgin, yes, but he could give her some of what she wanted.

"I've never..." she started as she took his hand.

"I know..."

"I've never even...." she began and he cut her off, his finger tips to her lips to still them.

"_**I've**__ never,_" he wanted to tell her as he kissed her. "_I've been with women, yes. But I've NEVER, never made love to one. Teased her out. Learned her responses. Took my time. Never had a virgin come to me, look at me like this, want me..._"

His nerves were all taunt and firing. He was no shy first timer, but this situation was just as enigmatic. _My God_, he thought in mute amazement as he skimmed his hands over her skin. _So fervent, so sensual. It's not just sexual_.

Pulling back from her with a sigh, he rolled onto his back as if to recover from the flood of sensation. She crawled onto him with measured, exact motions until she was above him, supporting her weight on her hands. He pulled her hair back for her and lifted his chin to allow her to kiss his neck.

She rose up until she was sitting, pressing into him cautiously. Watching her, hearing her ragged breaths, he was transported. So responsive. So responsive and to MY touch, he thought.

The Active Wizard's advice column looming in his mind, he hooked one finger in at the top of her pants. _What if I bugger this?_ his mind asked worriedly.

_Look on the bright side, the Dark Lord will likely kill you tomorrow, _his devil told him.

With just a touch to her zipper, he parted it. Her breathing came quicker now.

Rising to meet her gentle pushes, he coaxed her further. His senses told him the power of what was happening. The control and restraint it required pleased him.

It was easy to merely placate the body.... but this? he thought. "Incredible," he murmured.

The exquisite feel of his fingers on her skin. It was intoxicating. She had no idea there was so much to being with someone. This artful slowness. The heated intimacy. It was delicious and empowering to know that he wanted her, but that he would only work to please her. Her experience was so limited, and it included nothing like this.

Young men had always led with their needs. Pressed too hard and too fast. Pulled at her, grappled with her. But him? One hand to her breast, the other barely inside her pants, he lay there, gently moving beneath her. Answering her needs.

She thought she could have spent all night like that, but there was only so much she could endure once his lips were at her ear. "You are beautiful," he whispered and then moaned, entirely lost to the sensations. Then he said her name as if pleading with her or enticing her to feel the same. She closed her eyes and she felt his fingers draw her out. Felt his lips work her farther from her senses.

Falling now, and drifting down, she felt his arms catch and hold her.

* * *

**Thank you so much for reading and reviewing.** **The reviews make this a much easier journey for me and I enjoying hearing what everyone thinks about the characters.**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: The characters are not mine. But a bit of imagination is. And time wasted.  
**

**My thanks to the Selmak, sounding board extraordinaire**.

* * *

He had finally settled his head that night against her chest. Accustomed to sleeping alone and unmolested, he could not contend with the feeling of her hair on his face once they had settled in to sleep. He had worked lower as she dozed until he could rub against her breasts, rest an arm across her hip, and tangle his legs with hers. He wasn't sure he had slept at all. It was too exquisite, the subtle feel of her, the scent and warmth. The sound of her breath. He had nudged at her nipple with his nose and then, on a journey it seemed, he stretched out his tongue to taste and tease her. He smiled when she woke a bit, gripped his hair and merely said, "What? Hmmm, Severus? What are you doing?" As if they were old comfortable lovers and his lips on her were just a part of conversation.

"Nothing," he said in character. She petted him then, kissed him, shushed him, and told him, "Sleep... sleep."

In his sleep-sodden mind that morning, he had been 18 years old. Not again, but anew. An innocent boy without a mark on his soul, sweetly wrapped around his girl. Everything was a beginning. Their biggest worries were finding time to hide away to together. To have a lie in together. To play at being lovers while they waited to feel it was the right time to have that first time. _Together_.

He hadn't wanted to open his eyes to ruin it all. To start that day. But he did.

They said little to each other that morning and moved as if in shock. Scared of what was to come when Malfoy's news got to the Dark Lord, they showered in turn, and then dressed, all in near silence. She stood in front of the fire, hurting. Wanting him to come to her. But she would not tell him that. She would not burden him now with her silly needs.

He walked over to her, seeing she would just stand there until he did. "Go on," he whispered as he traced her jaw with the back of his hand. "I'll see you this afternoon... in class." It was an empty promise they both knew.

She placed a kiss gently on the corner of his mouth.

"And tonight?" she said as strongly as she could.

"And tonight," he said closing his eyes against the emotion. Her lips were on his then and he kissed her. Ran strong, desperate hands down her back.

"Go," he croaked as he pulled back from her.

**###**

Hours later, he stalked across his rooms. Pacing fiercely. He'd had a break after lunch and had come here to hide away before his final two classes. There would be the First Years and then... Hermione's class.

He rubbed at the mark on his forearm and seethed. Surely Malfoy had told the Dark Lord by now. So, when would he get his summons to answer for his involvement with Hermione?

The last summons had gone so very, very badly. He could not get that out of his mind.

O_ut of useful information, he had been in danger of seeming superfluous. Unloyal. But he knelt before the Dark Lord that night, unworried about the punishment that would come. Perversely, he even welcomed it. Filling his lungs and closing his eyes, he waited to be ripped from the ground. Once thrown, he did not even seek to break his fall. He retreated into his mind. He forsook his body, sure that finally his end would come._

_The sickening velocity ended suddenly. Too disoriented to know if he had even hit the wall or the floor that night, he must have passed out, he decided. As he began to stir, he saw he was alone in the now darkened chamber. The taste of blood was in his mouth, and as he tested his teeth and lips with his tongue, he cursed whatever capricious god would save him again. His left arm failed him a__s he pushed from the floor.__. He groaned against the pain and managed to sit up.. His hand touched his face gingerly. "Swollen," he grunted. That would explain why it was so hard to see out of that eye, he thought __with macabre humor__. _

That night had set up this perilous situation he found himself in now... that he and Hermione found themselves in. Albus would not let his tool go, oh no. He would just get more tools and hobble them together.

The mark on his arm began to burn then. He set his teeth and hissed. His chest heaved with a sense of relief that it had finally begun and a feeling of dread for what would come. He would not be leaving the Dark Lord's presence unharmed. And for the first time in a long time, that bothered him. Another of the "gifts" Albus Dumbledore had given him, he mused.

He walked to the Floo and called out for the Deputy Headmistress. "Minerva...." he started and then failed. He gripped his forearm and backed from the Floo. His head was whirling with thoughts and emotions he would need to control before he faced his master.. Turning, he moved to collect his mask and his cloak. Finally, he heard the woman respond. Hearing the edge to his voice, she stepped through unbidden.

With a shakiness he could not explain, he picked up his cloak. He exerted control then, pushing the memories and emotions out with the sure movements he always used to dress the part of a Death Eater. As he stowed his mask in his pocket, he turned to see Minerva standing by the Floo.

Tonight was different, they both knew. It had been so long since he had cared if he managed to return or not. He wanted to say more, not just let her know that he was leaving. He stood still, unable to form the words.

"He's called you then?" Minerva said lowly. She reached out one hand to try to touch his arm, but he stepped awkwardly away.

There had been times when he had not even bothered to alert Minerva to his leaving, he'd been so unconcerned with returning safely. He had known there was no point in alerting the Headmaster today. The weakness and fatigue that had haunted Dumbledore since the summer had only worsened. The old man, their puppet master, was reduced to sleeping away much of his days.

Severus looked at her now, and he could see her concern. Something has changed, his brain echoed again. Truthfully, the feeling came a bit lower, in his throat there was a feeling very much like worry. Regret at the idea of losing the little bit he had just found, gripped his chest.

"You need to take care of her, Minerva. If I don't come back.... She needs to be hidden far from here. Don't let her throw her life away. You could take the child. She's too young to be tied down," Severus said with uncharacteristic agitation.

"I promise I will look after her, Severus. But, please come back," Minerva whispered.

He merely grunted. But then told her grudgingly, "I'll try."

**###**

The assembled Seventh Years waited for their Potions professor. There was the smallest amount of nervous chatter as they began to debate whether or not Snape would appear at all.

Emotionally, Hermione was in free fall. She felt as if she was barely there at all. The room and everyone around her seemed distant. Her thoughts only had one object, and he was not here. Worse, he wasn't coming, she knew. Her eyes fell unfocused on the man's empty desk. Her breathing seemed ridiculously loud in her ears.

Beside her Ron whispered, "This is not a coincidence, Hermione. There have been more and more attacks in London. That's where he is. If the Headmaster was not so... ill he would see that Snape is always missing when these things happen."

Hermione wanted to shout at him. He wasn't even making sense. Severus was _**not**_ always missing when there were attacks. Ron and so many other people felt free to just bend the truth and peddle lies.

"Sunday night," Ron continued. "Where was Snape? Hmmm. There were attacks in three different places that night, my dad told me." And then Ron began to shrink away a bit from Hermione's frozen form. Suddenly, he had to admit that Hermione had been missing then as well.

The door in the back of the classroom eased open. Instinctively the students knew this was not likely to be Professor Snape with his penchant for grander entrances. A few brave souls looked back expectantly and the talking grew louder at the sight of the Deputy Headmistress.

Once to the front of the room, Minerva brought the room to attention with her mere demeanor. "Professor Snape has been called away on Hogwart's business unexpectedly. There will be no class today," she announced in a loud clear voice. "You are dismissed."

Before the final word even echoed through the room, students were smiling and congratulating each other on their luck. Neville Longbottom sighed with relief so loudly that it was audible to half the room. The sound had several students laughing. Neville found himself being patted on the back and urged out the back door before he even had his bearings.

Hermione still had not moved. "Hermione," Ron whispered urgently. "Please, Hermione, I'm worried about you. Get up and come with us."

"Ron, let her be," Harry said quietly with an eye to Professor McGonagall. It was obvious that their Head of House was waiting to deal with Hermione and her strange state. "We have things to.... get ready," Harry continued. "And then, I promise, we'll talk to her."

When the door behind her finally swung closed, Hermione met the tall woman's eyes, "Professor?" she managed.

Minerva nodded "Now... we wait," she said in a soft voice.

**###**

Hermione forced herself to eat at dinner. Being pregnant was like being a slave to this body, she sometimes felt. Just delaying a meal had made her light headed and nauseous lately.

Sitting at the long wooden table she had occupied for seven years, she focused her energies on pretending to be an ordinary student. She talked with all of her friends, laughed a bit, refused her brain's urging to look up at the head table and the vacant chair. _**Chairs**_, she thought. Dumbledore is missing again, too.

The whole meal there was a clock in her brain, counting the time Severus had been away, wondering when he would return. _How badly hurt would __he __be?_

She had placed her emotions in a strangle hold. She could feel the tense lock she had put on that doubting part of her, that part of her that wanted to shout: _He could be dead_. R_ight now, he could be lying dead somewhere._

She chatted with Ginny on her way out of the Great Hall and allowed the younger girl to bring her to the Common Room. For a brief time, Harry and Ron felt like they had the old Hermione back. She talked with them, listened to their Quidditch exploits, and laughed at all the right times.

When things fell silent, Harry leaned forward and told her, "I'm sorry I've been a lousy friend this year, Hermione. There have been things I had to do. And I could not tell anyone about them. I hope you can understand. Things are about to happen. Big things. And then we can work together again. The three of us. All right?"

"Yes," she lied. The mood had changed suddenly in the room. There was no more pretending she could do. She had to do something to stop feeling so useless while she waited for Severus.

"I'm going to walk rounds," Hermione said as she stood.

"Hey, Hermione," Ron called out. "Catch those Slytherins, huh? We are behind on points."

Hermione managed a smile as she eased out the portrait door.

Her walking quickly brought her to Professor McGonagall's office. Wordlessly, Minerva let the younger woman in.

"Professor," Hermione said tensely, "It's almost 7 o'clock."

"Yes, thank you, Hermione, but I do have a working timepiece."

"Isn't there something we can do?" Hermione insisted, undeterred.

Minerva closed the files on her desk, straightened the blotter and recapped her ink with characteristic thoroughness while Hermione stared at her fiercely.

"Please try to have some faith, Miss Granger. We have done this before," Minerva said as she moved for the door. With her hand on the cloak that hung there, she told the younger witch, "I am going to get Poppy and wait by the gates."

Minerva put her cloak on slowly enforcing a discipline that would not let the young woman see she was very nearly as worried as she. Her Head of House had escorted Hermione out of the office, but the young witch would not leave for her room.

She continued to look at Minerva expectantly.

"_**I **_am going to wait for him, Miss Granger. First person, _**singular**_."

Finally Hermione understood and she knew there was no arguing with Minerva McGonagall. "What am I supposed to do?" Hermione hissed.

"Surely, a smart witch, who is in control of her emotions, would find something appropriate to do with her time," the older witch said perfunctorily as she turned to walk in the direction of the Infirmary.

But Minerva had not completely fooled Hermione with her emotionless show. The Professor had been distracted enough to leave her office and the rooms beyond unlocked. Hermione slipped back into the office and then to the Floo that was in the next room.

Once she had stepped through to Professor Snape's quarters, she wondered if, perhaps, it was sympathy and not distraction that had made Minerva leave that door open to her.

**###**


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Thanks, Selmak.

* * *

In the oversized and near-empty dining room of Malfoy Manor, the select group was assembled. The Dark Lord had brought together only Malfoy and Severus, with Bella, of course, there to tend him in his chair.

"Malfoy tells me you have seduced Potter's mudblood, Severus," he said to the man who knelt in front of him. Lucius clenched and released his hands eager to see Severus suffer a punishment for the actions he had taken without orders from the Dark Lord. "Severus? Our celibate? Could it be true?"

"It is my, My Lord." Severus admitted.

The pain ripped through him as he suddenly twisted through the air. The non-verbal spell always had the same results. The Dark Lord seemed to delight at tearing at the old injuries. Always the sensation was one of his left arm being used to throw him spinning, finally slamming into the ground. He managed to get one hand under him this time and save his face the worst of the impact.

His vision cleared enough to know Lucius looked pleased. Self-satisfied. Malfoy had always envied the Potion Master for his position. He had complained quietly for years that a mongrel should not be so close to the Dark Lord. He should not be so continually credited for his show of brains. It was time Snape felt some of the Dark Lord's fury and was shown his true importance. And Lucius would enjoy being there to watch it finally happen.

The near-man swept forward and in an instant his icy wand tip was pressed to Severus' throat. "You've started something with someone that close to Potter without asking, my servant? Foolish. Or... is it that you are on their side to begin with?"

Severus lightly rolled his head to the side and willed himself to relax enough to offer up some memories. He could hear Bella's hiccuping laugh come with the expectation of getting to see him die there.... but he blocked it out. He drew a breath in through his nose and focused on the smell of Hermione's hair as he had leaned against her ....

...and he heard the Dark Lord draw in his matching breath as he registered the same scent.

The Dark Wizard could see the smooth unblemished skin as Hermione rose from the Potion Master's bed. The thatch of curls as they disappeared into her tiny knickers, and the corresponding tightness it had brought to Severus' stomach.

"Severus? Mmmm, she is a feast," he said, allowing himself to be distracted. "But ..." the master said as he launched further into the memories.

At the Dark Lord's bidding, it came then - to both their brains - the way she pushed up onto her toes to kiss back at him, the feel of her tongue against his lips. The sound of her humming her pleasure to him. The word she breathed after she had kissed him, "Finally."

_Finally.... _

Severus felt it echo in his thoughts as the wand tip pushed deeper.

"Perhaps, you tire of being my servant, Severus?" the Dark Lord asked.

"No, My Lord," Severus said lowly keeping only Hermione to mind, seeking to feed the Dark Lord's need for lurid entertainment.

"She offered herself to me... I couldn't ..."

"Offered herself? To you?" Bella spat. "The Order has you right where they want you."

Wisely, he did not answer Lestrange, but only spoke to the man who could dispatch him with a breath. "She is useless now to the Order," Severus said. "My Lord, please."

The ache of having her pressed up against him flooded his memory and the dark wizard leaned closer, frantically enticed.

Severus conjured the hint of roundness at her lower belly, her finger tips grazing over it...and the word that might save him...

"Pregnant?" the Dark Lord suddenly said with a barking laugh. Voldemort took a step backwards, near reeling with enjoyment. He laughed as his perverse need for amusement was fulfilled. "Perfect," he hissed. And looking into Severus' face, he then said, "And she wants to keep it?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Good. Wonderful," the Dark Lord said, bestowing rare praise. Bella was sickened by the sight of Severus receiving this attention, especially over a Mudblood. She began to stiffen and her eyes smoldered.

"Make her understand that she cannot reveal that you are the father. Not yet. Harry Potter will lose her help when she is expelled. Dumbledore will have a fiasco on his hands. Wonderful," he said again with amusement. "And her secrets will be ours."

"But a Mudblood, My Lord," Bella whined, ever mindful of the chance to sow discord where Severus was involved.

"Oh, Bella don't you see?" Voldemort deigned to explain. "Severus brings down the Mudblood. And it is the beginning of nothing but trouble for Dumbledore. And it will be Severus and his Mudblood who are the heart of punishing what is left of the beaten old man. He will be denounced after this final fiasco. The head girl? Seduced by a Death Eater. Pregnant by her professor..." and he trailed off smiling to himself. "Mudbloods are not without their uses, eh, Severus?

"Yes, my Lord."

"New times are coming. Soon Dumbledore will no longer dog us and the Order will fall. It is time to orchestrate the end of this war." Voldemort took thoughtful steps away from the man who rested on his knees on the floor. Suddenly, the Dark Lord's head snapped in the direction of the proud blonde wizard. "Malfoy," he oozed, "there have been more attacks on the Muggles in London?"

"Yes, My Lord," Malfoy said proudly with a bow.

"And the result?" the Dark Wizard asked.

"Result, My Lord?" Lucius said as if confused.

"Are we merely indulging your needs Lucius? Or is SOMETHING being accomplished?"

Malfoy was without an answer. And the Dark wizard hissed in agitation. "Severus," he called out. "Do you have any thoughts on these revels?"

"If we mean to kill a certain number of Muggles, there are better ways to accomplish it. And if we mean to subjugate them.... Again, there are better ways. We have established that we are a force to be feared. Perhaps, my Lord, it is time for ...new strategies?"

"Malfoy," Voldemort said taking the blonde wizard by surprise. "What would you recommend for further campaigns in this war?

"My Lord, what ever you direct...."

"You are very free to cause trouble among your fellow Death Eaters, Malfoy. I just thought you might be as free with your advise," the Dark Lord said menacingly.

Severus knew his actions here must continue to be subtle. He must sense the tide and change with it. Direct it, just a bit, when he could. It was a game he had been playing for years. So, as the silence stretched on, Severus floated out his words cautiously, "My Lord, once the Muggles are under our control, we could begin to manage them.... They have their uses."

"Lucius, is it true?" the Dark Lord baited him, "Do the Muggles have their uses?"

"I can think of only one, My Lord."

"You lack imagination," the Dark Lord said with disgust.

"Containment, exploitation, and finally, eugenics," Severus said with due deference, sensing the tide had changed for the moment in his favor.

"But your fellow Death Eater does not see the point in exploiting the Muggles, Severus..." Voldemort said mockingly with a look to Lucius.

"I am not so deluded as to think Malfoy got the gold for that cane from a proper Goblin dealer," Severus said evenly. "It would have cost him 4 times as much as a muggle source. His revels and amusements...."

"When I am done with them, they do NOT doubt who is superior," Malfoy interrupted, forgetting himself.

"A wise man knows he is superior. But he does not prove it by killing all his livestock and destroying his crops," Severus said with surety.

Malfoy looked confused. But the Dark Lord seized on this notion. "Yes, Severus, I was wondering when I would find that anyone in my presence had a mind for how these Muggles were to be handled."

"Malfoy?" the Dark Lord then called.

"Yes, My Lord," Lucius replied. Nothing had gone as he had expected. And he was wary now.

"To your family goes the honor of the final blow to Dumbledore. We will wait until I can enjoy his disgrace. I will watch him wither a little more," he said enjoying the sensations the idea in mind gave him. "And then.... and then your family's turn to serve as well will come."

And then, Voldemort quickly turned his eyes to the Potions Master who still knelt on the floor. "Severus, you are a worthy servant, but do not doubt that you have disappointed me."

"I understand, My Lord," Severus said bowing his head lower.

"You have had your enjoyment of her, hmmm? Things you wished to hide from me. Those pleasures will now bring you pain," the crazed wizard said with terrifying simplicity.

Severus froze not knowing what to expect. Voldemort crossed in front of him and with a wordless slash of his wand, he cast a cutting spell. Severus felt his tongue sliced, he fell forward to let the blood spill from his mouth. As he coughed and struggled to breath, the Dark Lord brought himself down until his mouth was very near Severus' ear. "Your tongue on her Severus? Your mouth suckling at her breast? No thoughts of your service to me? Only your pleasure? You liked the way she squealed for you and your tongue, hmmm?"

And as the master's wand hand quickly twitched again, Severus felt a knife edge tear through his face. Involuntarily, he raised a hand to the wound. The blood was hot, sticky and meshed with the hair that lay there. The wound bled fiercely and Severus pressed his palm to it to staunch the flow. "That face. You wondered how she could look up into THAT face and seem delighted, desirous. You liked the way her hands felt as they traced your jaw, Severus. But no thoughts for your master? Now, when that wound never heals, how will that young thing look up at you? With pity?"

Bella began to titter. She paced a bit, trying to get the best possible view of Severus.

But Severus only had one thought. He is punishing me, _**but**_ he means to send me back alive. And he wrapped himself in that knowledge.

Severus focused on his breathing, on getting through his punishment, and on saving the strength he would need to see him home. Still, the serpent of a man seemed to twist about him, looking, thinking, choosing one last way to hurt him.

Voldemort stood now at Severus' side. He angrily spat his words now, "You liked the way it felt, oh, I know you did, pushing your fingers into her pants, feeling her writhe for you?" The Dark Wizard seethed, his breathing coming fast now, like a man possessed. "You are so easily satisfied, my poor boy, my poor little half-breed," he said more quietly now. "But you'll be keeping your fingers dry for a while." And he stamped his foot casting a non-verbal spell that snapped the bones in Snape's left hand.

Severus could not contain the pain now. He groaned and then choked on the blood in his mouth. He collapsed unable to support his weight any longer and rolled onto his side. He watched Voldemort sweep from the room. Malfoy and Lestrange lingered, however, satisfying themselves with the sight of Severus Snape bloodied and brought low.

**###**

The two woman stood bundled against the cold there by the gates. They staved away their worry with aimless conversations until all the obvious things were said.

A silence then stretched on and Poppy said what she always did, "He'll be alright, Minerva. You'll see." And her friend had to smile at that. There was comfort in those oft repeated words. Severus always had managed to get himself back somehow. She had never seen anyone Apparate when as injured as he had sometimes been.

So, Minerva smile a thin smile and nodded to the Matron. "I know. I know. But things are different now. The war. It really is a war now. And how are we to get through this? A bunch of old veterans of the last fight and these children who throw themselves into conflict so damned blindly." After another silence Minerva took the matron's arm and asked her, "How is Albus, really? I know you aren't supposed to tell me, but Poppy, if we have to do this without him, I need to know."

Poppy would not look at the woman as she betrayed her oath of secrecy as a healer. She stood close to Minerva, but looked away. "I can tell you he's tired," she began. "The curse he attracted over the summer is affecting him. It is not just the arm. It is more and more systemic. But the .... danger is not immediate to him. He'll see us through this. I believe that."

Minerva nodded solemnly and spared a look up to the headmaster's quarters where the room lights were already out. But the headmaster was not sleeping. The increasingly frail man had extinguished the lights in the room to allow him to see the distance to the gates more easily.

There was a crack then behind the two women and Poppy was to Severus with her wand extended before he fully hit the ground.

She had rolled him onto his back and he was struggling with her. Quickly she realized the problem and helped roll him to his side so he could let the blood run from his mouth.

Minerva sucked in a startled breath, as Poppy continued to work over the man. "All your major organs are present and accounted for, Severus. Good work." The man groaned in reply. "Really, Min, it looks worse than it is. A lot of blood, but all I see is a broken hand. The cut to the face. A sliced, but still whole, tongue...... And the usual bumps, bruises, muscle tears, and scrapes." The matron had the audacity to smile as she worked.

**###**

He found her waiting for him in his quarters when he returned from the Hogwarts infirmary. She gave him a wide berth seeing the feral quality to him. She willed herself not to remark on his injuries or the state of his clothes. Not to pester him with questions. She kept her distance as he finally sat, and she watched as he hung his head. Instinctively, she knew not to touch him - that to do so would provoke a firestorm from him. And so instead she sat near him silently and waited.

"He knows you are pregnant," he managed thickly and slowly with his healing tongue. "And... something new is brewing... involving Malfoy and the Headmaster." Severus looked up and she could tell how draining it was for him to appear before Voldemort. The effort that came with Occlumency. How many times had he come back like this? How many times had the students been blind to what was taken from this man because of the role he played?

He saw the question in her eyes that she would not ask. "He cut my tongue. Badly."

He stood without explanation and stiffly walked to the bed room. She had turned the bed down for him already he saw. It was a simple act that spoke of understanding and of caring. Things he had accused her of feigning a short month ago. Sitting down on the mattress, he sighed and closed his eyes.

Cautiously, so as not to startle him, she spoke as she walked to him.

"And Madam Pomfrey has released you?" she asked softly, trying not to shout her disbelief.

He nodded. "I am mended ...as best she can." He managed a bit of his sardonic tone and then thoughtfully, he traced the pink scar on his cheek with his good hand. "I am lucky he did not decide to castrate me."

"It's late. Will you sleep?"

Groaning, he began to pull at his cloak with his right hand and she whispered, "Let me."

"I don't need your help." But she saw the way he favored his left side. She realized she had not seen him move his left hand at all.

"I know. But let me indulge my fantasies," she said in a voice that failed to conceal her worry. Seeing that he had yet to relax, she tried another tack. "Alright. I'm lying. It's Professor Flitwick." She paused now. He knew what she was doing, trapping him with the way she was drawing out this ridiculous tale. But he wanted to be caught up in it. A vision of the diminutive man came involuntarily to mind as she continued. Leaning over him now and whispering. "It's for Advanced Charms. I won't get full credit if he knows I told you, but we are supposed to undress someone using only charms work."

"Then why are your hands on me?"

She had to think fast to stay a step ahead of him, to hold his interest in this game, she knew. "How would I manage to design a spell to do something I have never done before at all?" she asked.

And despite his fatigue and his pain, this novelty excited him. The inexpertness to her hands and the newness of the experience for them both, made him tingle. How had he ever warranted an ingenue? It amazed him, a proud man, that she would comfortably confess her lack of skill to him. And he relaxed with relief that she had not been repulsed by the sight of him.

"Nox," he called out to extinguish the lights.

The small half smile came to his face a second later. And he dropped his good hand from his buttons in silent approval.

He let her pull off the cloak and he managed to remain limp and silent while she unbuttoned the frock coat.

As she eased the cuff over his left hand she watched his face, saw the gentle grimace.

"Is it the hand then?" she asked quietly.

"It was broken," he managed.

"Shouldn't it be bandaged?"

"Yes, Poppy," he said with sarcasm.

He could not hold his arm out any longer to get the frock coat off. "And the shoulder again?" she asked lowly.

"You disapprove of his methods?" he said with a hint of lift to his expressive eyebrow.

She did not answer him, just touched his chest lightly and whispered, "Lie down." Once he had reclined onto the bed, he covered his face with his right arm. He shouldn't let her do this. He shouldn't let her.... let himself get used to this. Then she pulled his shirt from the waistband of his trousers with careful little tugs and she heard him let out a delightful hum from behind his arm.

"Did Poppy drug you?" she said with sudden realization.

"Boots, woman," he said in a thick version of his honeyed voice. She was fairly certain she had her answer.

"Maybe my fantasy is fulfilled already," she joked, looking at the dirt on his boots. His face covered, she indulged her desire to take him in and decided she liked what she saw. A wicked, devilish, but relaxed expression was on her face as she pulled at the buckles so that he could kick off the boots with a grunt.

She shoved the boots under the bed and then put a hand to his knee. "Get all the way in the bed. Go on." And she helped a bit as he raised his knees and moved into the bed with a groan.

She crossed to the far side of the bed and slowly pulled off her clothes. She kept her eyes on him as she did it. So much unspoken. When she was down to her panties and her camisole, she crawled into the bed. Not touching him, just being near. And she curled up on her side and told him, "I'll stay. In case you need something tonight. I know you don't need me to. But I want to." She was prattling on now, she knew. But he didn't reprimand her. He was too tired, too sore and his healing tongue too unmanageable. He just stared at her with drowsy, liquid eyes. "Sleep," she said as she raised the covers around them both. "I won't disturb you. I won't touch you."

"Please?" he said as he closed his eyes lightly. "Do."

Transfixed by his simple words, she raised a single finger to trace along his jaw. To touch his beautiful lips. Raising herself up on her elbow she leaned into him carefully, touching him with just her lips now. She placed gentle rhythmic kisses on his face. Until she stopped, pulled back and looked at him. His eyes opened slowly, as if he was wondering why she was no longer kissing him.

"More," he growled weakly.

"You are hurt and.... drugged," she complained.

"I know that," he told her peevishly. He proceeded to stare her into compliance with his wishes.

Hermione gave him an exaggerated sigh and then, with the covers around her, she manuevered on top of him. Taking her weight on her knees, she barely touched him. He watched her, entranced.

She worked quickly, before she could lose her courage, to unbutton his shirt and pull it open. Trailing her hands over his chest lightly, she watched the enjoyment play at his lips. "More," he whispered. So, she stopped her touches and she sat with her hands on the bottom of her camisole as if debating what to do. Then slowly, slowly she raised it over her head. She was tantalizingly out of reach to him though and she kept it that way.

"And you tell me I am pushy," she whispered as she leaned down to let her breasts skim across his chest. Encouraged by his faint smile, she then moved higher, trailing her nipples across his lips.

_This is a recovery activity I had never properly considered before_, he thought to himself as he floated on the pain potions and the sensations provoked by his lithe temptress.

Hermione was transported by the feelings as well, the relief of having him back had made her giddy. And obviously impaired her decision making abilities, she told herself. Smiling, she had fallen into the world that existed just between the two of them. She was so far from hearing the real world, that she was sure she was imagining the call she heard.

It was Severus' oath that brought her eyes open and her attention back to reality.

"Minerva," he said with disgust and nodded his head toward the sitting room.

"She 's HERE!?" Hermione near shrieked with eyes wide.

"She's Floo calling. You'd better answer her or she'll come check on me. Us." He managed a smirk.

Quickly, but carefully, Hermione extricated herself from the covers and threw on some clothing. She near tripped into the sitting room, the whole time calling out, "It's alright, Professor."

"Hermione," her Head of House said, more relieved than surprised to see her student there. "That fool man should be in the infirmary. Is he really alright?"

"He seems to be," Hermione said as she tucked some errant hair behind her ear. "I, uh, figured someone should stay with him..."

"We are lucky we got him back."

"I know. It was frightening. Having to wait for him," the young woman said as she leaned toward the grate with elbows on knees.

"Well we are in for more trouble, I am sure before this whole thing is through. Now, Hermione. That man is a notoriously bad patient. If he gets to be too much to handle, you get Poppy. There's no reason you should be saddled with him. Poppy knows how to get him to behave." And despite the strange optics of the Floo call, Hermione was sure she saw the older witch wink.

"Yes, Ma'am. Good night."

"Good night, dear."

Hermione crept into the darkened bedroom with a grin on her face. She quickly shed everything but her knickers and camisole, and climbed into bed, eager to tell him what Professor McGonagall had said about him.

She hovered over him, whispering his name, preparing to lightly kiss him. His breathing told her that he was already asleep, but she kissed him anyway. And she told the unhearing man, "I was so scared today, Severus. I'd rather be with you, face things together than have to wait for you again." She sighed, lay back, and stared up at the ceiling, but she couldn't sleep. She moved her hand to him, rested it lightly on his uninjured arm, needing that contact.

"I wasn't supposed to care so much, was I?" she asked as her pregnancy-fueled tears burned out of her eyes.

###


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: A short but steamy (literally) chapter. I felt the need to keep things to shorter chapters for the separation they need.**

* * *

When Hermione woke, she rolled over to see him lying beside her, rubbing at his forehead. "Headache?" she asked gently. Severus grunted, "Among other things," he admitted.

He seemed all business this morning, she quickly decided. He groaned as he moved to sit up. It was an agonizing process to watch, but this was a man who it was nearly impossible to help. With belabored steps, he crossed to the bureau, seeming much older than he was.

He found his supply of pain medication and choked down a few of the small tablets. There were days when he had washed the damn things down with a shot of his whiskey. Suddenly that seemed inappropriate in the presence of the innocent.

"He knows Potter and the Headmaster are up to something," Severus said slowly testing his tongue's progress toward healing. There was no preamble with him. He merely launched into the discussion as if there had been none of the erotic distractions of last night. "And at any time he could discover our deception.

"Promise me," he said finally turning to looked at her. "If something happens to me, you will get out of here. Get Minerva to hide you." His words were so intense they frightened her.

"I'll be alright. I will. You will, too," she insisted. The words sounded ridiculously childish and hollow even to her.

His voice was strained now, and he gritted his teeth. "_**Promise me**_, I don't have to worry about you. If I die, do whatever you need to. Tell them I forced myself on you. But _**don't**_ let them martyr you."

"I would never tell anyone that," she objected and she could feel the tears well up. She damned the changes to her body that made her so apt to break down lately. "It's the hormones," she explained embarrassed as she quickly wiped her eyes..

"I'm going to shower. You need to go to breakfast." he said firmly. He stood there then by his bureau as if waiting for her to comply. As if he expected her to put her clothes on and march to the Floo like a good little girl.

She was torn about what to do. How does one handle Severus Snape, if the man could be handled at all? Do I _**ask**_ him to let me stay so I can help him? Do I _**tell**_ him I am staying?

Hermione just stood and with a small smile that seemed to say, _I do not yield_, she walked for the bathroom. Her swinging curls were the last thing he saw before the door closed.

When the door finally opened again, steam was rolling out and he could hear the water running. He pinched his brow in consternation, but he didn't move.

_Patience,_ she told herself as she stood by the bathroom. _Not a word. And patience._ And finally he began to walk for the bathroom door.

"Promise me you will hide yourself, if it comes to that," he said once he stood along side her. Was he making an unspoken trade? He would not pester her to leave his rooms, if she would make this promise?

"I promise. I will take care of myself. And the baby," she added. "But you. You have to promise to take care of yourself."

"I don't have to promise anything," he said slowly, as he turned away from her. He shut her out of the bathroom then.

She waited. She was expected at breakfast, yes. But she wasn't going. After all, she was part of the sneakiest group ever to grace Hogwarts.

It was easy to discern what was going on in the bathroom. The door was not that thick, and her hearing was quite acute.... especially with her ear pressed up against the wood.

He flushed. She heard him struggle with his trousers and groan. He pulled the shower curtain open. And with a moan, the curtain was pulled shut. And a now-naked Hermione eased through the bathroom door. She parted the curtain just enough to squeeze through.

It was a beautifully tiled, large shower. Square with two jets of water and very easy to walk into. No climbing over a tub lip. But then, Horace Slughorn, the previous occupant of these rooms, would not have been one for anything laborious, she considered.

And as she adjusted to the feel of the spray on her back, she shook her head and scrubbed at her face to banish the thought of a naked Horace Slughorn. She opened her eyes to see her shower partner.

_Severus. Severus Snape_, she thought. _No. Just "Severus" to me. A whole different man from any I have known before._

It hurt to look at him. His back was to her and he leaned into the wall with his head resting on his uninjured arm. The bruises were deep and exaggerated against his pale skin.

"What are you doing here?" he said with out even turning to look at her.

"Just helping," she said as she reached to gently extract the flannel he was holding from his hand.

He groaned in answer.

Even with the soothing feel of the hot water on him, he ached horribly. It would be another few minutes before the pain medication provided any relief. And so he was resigned to just stand there in the hopes that he would start to feel better quickly. The sooner he could function, the sooner he could get back some control over his life.

His pushy little ingenue was behind him. Was she being careful not to press against him? Was she mindful of the injuries or the likelihood that their bodies, naked and pressed together for the first time, would start something they could not finish?

So, it was just the touch of her hands and the flannel that worked across his neck gently. He almost chuckled then, despite the pain, to feel her scrub behind his ears as if he was 4.

He didn't move, didn't even open his eyes. He just felt. When she was not washing him, she petted him. Softly. Like no one ever had. As if there were words in her fingertips, words of encouragement and consolation. Her hands ghosted down him silently then, carefully, and relief seemed to enter his muscles just then. The soft flannel, the steaming water, and her faint touch, worked all the way down his back and arms, across his buttocks and to his thighs.

She was straightening now behind him. She placed a kiss on his shoulder blade and then began to wash him again. _Oh God_, he thought. _That woman means to wash all of me_.

She had been hesitant at first. Embarrassed. To be standing there naked and exposed. She had never seen him naked before. Still hadn't, really. He had yet to turn around and she had only seen him from behind. The awkwardness melted away as she put herself to her task. And she gently extended both arms around him to wash at his chest.

She stopped, got more soap. And then her hands returned with out the flannel. They swept from his hips low and to the front. She just grazed against him there and he moaned. Encouraged then, she took him in hand. The rising hardness excited her and she pressed against him as lightly as she could, but she could not help but to grind against his hip a bit. Oh, she was done washing him. But she could not stop stroking him.

_Shouldn't I stop? _she worried.

But as she slowed her hand, he began to push into it. And she had her answer.

"Show me how," she said. If they were going to do this, Hermione Granger wanted to do it right.

And his hand guided hers. He had her squeeze a little harder just ... "Mmm, there," he whispered. And he dropped his hand from hers to snake it behind him and give her something perfect to push against.

Shameless. She felt so shameless hearing herself moan. But she didn't stop.

And then she was invincible, alive, and connected as she climaxed against his hand just as she had the other night. But he had never come for her, and she wanted that. That unreasonable, demanding, set-in-her-ways determination that ruled Hermione Granger. She groaned with him. Stroked him. Felt the shivering, the tensing. Begged him with her thoughts to let her make this happen.

He gripped the wall with both hands now. Imagined himself blissfully buried inside her. Saw himself releasing and it happened.

His legs nearly left him then. She felt him weaken and wrapped her arms around his chest and supported him a bit. He sighed with exhaustion. He tried to turn to face her and nearly stumbled. She moved to shore him up. Pressing against him and having him lean against the wall. She lay her head against his chest, chuckled a little out of relief, and heaved her own satisfied breath.

"Easy, woman," he said with a hand to her head. "If we knock ourselves unconscious in here, we'll give the Daily Prophet enough material for a month. And Madam Pomfrey will have that heart attack she has been promising me I would cause." There was a touch of amusement to his voice. A lightness she enjoyed hearing.

She nuzzled against him, placed a soft kiss on his wet chest. There was this dichotomy to her that amazed him. The sweet silence of her seeking intimacy. And then that vocal woman who had ground herself against him, desperate with need. And all of it had him as its focal point.

He could only stare down at her and wonder how she managed this. She had made her decision and had, it seemed, bound herself to him... to _**him**_ after all the gruffness, despite the age difference, despite the limitations on his soul and emotions.

He was too shocked to know if it endeared her to him. Or frightened him.

**###**


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: My thanks to Selmak, my patient sounding board. This short chapter is something different, something with a slightly absurd tone in parts to break up the serious landscape.

* * *

She heard nothing from him then for days. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and nothing. It was Friday now and there was no message. Nothing, zip, zilch, nichts, nada. If he had planned to see her that weekend wouldn't he have sent an owl at breakfast the way he had before?

How dare he be so good at feigning indifference?

But then maybe indifference was no act on his part.

She had tried not to look at him at meals, although it would have done no harm. Everyone else had stared and talked about that scar all week.

"Sheesh," Ron said as he openly gaped at Severus Snape. "Why doesn't he let Madam Pomfrey do something about that?"

"There are two possibilities," Hermione said evenly, keeping her eyes to her plate. "It cannot be further healed, as it is cursed. Or, he likes it like that."

"I am betting he likes it like that. Maybe he figures looking like Mad Eye Moody would be an improvement? Eh?" Ron said as he looked around to see how well his joke was received. And he did manage to get a few laughs out of Seamus and some younger Gryffindors.

Hermione tried to steal just the smallest and quickest of glances of the man at the head table. She hoped to see anything that marked him as ...._**emotionally**_ different. Something that told her everything that had happened between them on Sunday and Monday was real and meant something...

...and was not just a forgotten part of some play.

But the man she saw was the same one who had sat there for years. Her professor. Cold and scowling. The great black bat of the dungeon.

"Severus" did not exist.

###

That afternoon she had Potions. She knew better than to expect some sort of sign of affection from Severus Snape, the poster child for social dysfunction. There would be no wink, no "accidental" lingering touch, no special smile meant just for her.

But what she did not expect was a T for Troll on the essay that was returned at the end of class.

"Oh, my God," Ron kept saying. Her eyes were frozen on her parchment, as were Ron's. The T stood out blazing and 3 inches tall at the top. Underneath it said, "You reveal how little you understand." And she just kept hearing Ron's voice in her ear, "OHMYGOD OHMYGOD" and that, in addition to the T she was staring at, was suddenly too much for her.

"Would you just SHUT UP, Ron!" she bellowed.

"Perhaps," came Professor Snape's most sardonic voice, "you two could take your lover's quarrel somewhere else. Most of your classmates have managed to realize that class has been dismissed."

She tried to calm down. She knew it was ridiculous to think there would have been some love note scribbled to her there with her grade. She had known there would be no "XX OO" and a little heart with an arrow drawn through it.

But it never, never occurred to her that the man would seriously give her a T - no matter how bad her essay was! Not when she had spent her study time, with him... snogging HIM, letting his bloody hands touch her the way no one ever had.

Suddenly, she felt so used. She felt naked sitting there. Dropping her head, she put her hands over the offending parts of her essay, but the embarrassment and the shame didn't stop. _Right now_, she thought, _he is probably_ _imagining me straddling him, dangling my breasts over him just because he had asked me to._

She lifted her eyes to look at him, hoping to see the barest hint of the man she wanted to see. But the smirk on her professor's face was one that seemed to say, "You little slut, you ran your hands all over me in my shower as if you would never get enough."

She pushed up from her seat, no longer feeling shy and self-conscious. Enraged now, she fixed her eyes on his unflinchingly. The new pink scar along his cheek made him look dangerous, yes. But few would have chosen to face Hermione just then. The look on her face said, _You want to do a little Legilimens? Read my thoughts RIGHT NOW, Snape._

The stragglers, Ron, Harry and Draco, and three other Slytherins, were frozen in their spots around the room. _Granger has lost it, _ was their collective thought.

"Potter," Snape said, his lip seeming to twitch with amusement. "As Weasley is incapable of handling his girlfriend, make yourself useful... Throw a net over Miss Granger and GET HER OUT OF HERE."

Then he gave her a tight little smile that made her blood run cold. She could swear he had somehow made her think of the shameless display she had made, grinding against him and groaning out his name like the desperate little virgin she was.

He turned his back to them then with a satisfied little snort and feigned making corrections to the notes on the black board.

As Hermione took slow determined steps toward Severus, Harry leaned over a desk and tried to grab her arm. But she dodged him, her eyes focused on her target. Ron remained frozen, gripping his essay, and the Slytherin spectators grinned with delight at seeing the Head Girl come undone.

She wadded up her paper as she walked. When Severus turned to confront her, she reared back to whip the essay at him with all her strength. He did not even flinch or blink. With a show of bored calm, he let the essay bounce off his chest and fall to the floor harmlessly. _Pitifully_, Hermione thought. His hands on his hips like the confident bastard he was, he followed the course of the paper ball with his eyes as it rolled under his desk.

She was all the more enraged now and wished she had had something more brick-like to lob at the infuriating man.

"YOU need help," she told him while pointing an accusing finger. "YOU are seriously deranged. Completely mental. Two faced... mental.... bas..."

"Miss Granger," Severus shouted cutting off the end of her expletive. "You have just lost your house 50 points. I suggest you SHUT UP."

Harry was on her now. He stood between Hermione and Snape and wrapped his arms around her to prevent her from laying hands on the professor.

She turned her head into Harry's shoulder so she wouldn't have to look at Severus, so she could pretend he couldn't see her behaving like this. But his low voice reached her. "You need to remember how to speak to a _**professor**_, Miss Granger."

Severus was distracted a moment, seeing her clutch a hand to her lower abdomen. She had probably strained the already disturbed muscles that the pregnancy was rearranging, he thought with an unaccustomed pang.

He took in the whole scene then. It seemed natural, too natural, to see Potter trying to soothe her. To see his arms around her.

It was as if nature and time conspired against him, bringing him another Potter to stand between him and a woman as if he was a beast not to be trusted.

"I will speak to Professor McGonagall about an appropriate detention for you... for this weekend," he said quickly.

Severus then purposefully sidestepped the pair of them and headed for the door. The gaggle at the rear of the room scattered as he approached, pushing each other and tripping over themselves to get out of the way.

His mention of detention had set her to seething again. Her muscles had gone rigid and she was mumbling. And the more Harry said, "Just calm down. JUST CALM DOWN," the louder Hermione repeated her mantra.

Finally, even those in the hallway could hear her scream, "I am going to hex his bollocks the size of Bludgers!"

**###**

A/N: I don't know if Hermione would say zip, zilch, nichts, nada. But MyMadness does.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: A tough chapter to write. I wrote two versions and then let them duke it out :)

Thanks, Sel.

* * *

At dinner, Hermione was still furious, but mostly with herself now, for her ridiculous meltdown. How could she have let the bastard get to her? How could she have let a grade bother her _**that**_ much? She looked up at Ginny who was smiling at her, and she proceeded to forget about Professor Snape. Wasted not another thought about getting a look at him.

But if she had looked, she would have seen the Headmaster touch the potion master's sleeve as they moved for their chairs. She would have seen Severus patiently bend his head to listen to the old man. Would have seen the sad, determined nod he gave.

The words no one else heard the Headmaster say, "Tonight, I think. Or first thing tomorrow," were enough to make the distracted younger man look to the Gryffindor table to find Hermione.

At the table with her were Ron, Harry, and Ginny. They all seemed to sit a little closer together, insulating themselves from the world around them. Being a group again made Harry and Ron different somehow. There was none of the boy in them tonight. They had their confidence and maturity. So, Hermione was not surprised to find that things did not just seem changed, but that they were.

"Hermione," Harry said as he moved his finished plate from in front of him. "Ron and I need to talk to you." He gave her a quiet assured smile. "We are leaving school, tomorrow first thing. Meet us outside where we can talk about it, okay?"

Ron gave her a tight smile, that spoke of the nerves behind the conviction. Hermione stood and followed the two tall, young men out to the dark courtyard. Harry and Ron walked in a quick circle, looking for eavesdroppers and then with privacy wards in place, they turned to her.

"What is it, Harry? What's going on?" Hermione hissed eagerly.

"There are things the Headmaster needs us to work on and there is nothing more we can do stuck up here. Hermione, we want you to come with us. To help us. But I've promised the Headmaster I would not tell you any details until we had left here together. Until we have all made that commitment." Harry looked apologetic about this stipulation the Headmaster had made. "So, pack tonight. All your warmest things. I don't know all the places we will end up..."

Even pregnant she was tempted to say, _Yes_, to run off to her room and throw her things together. But what had Harry said? The Headmaster had TOLD him he could not reveal the details of what they were going to do until they had all left Hogwarts. So, Professor Dumbledore did not intend for Hermione to go. He did not intend for her to even know what Harry would be doing, she reasoned.

How many times had Severus warned her, the less she knew the better? And she understood it had to be that way. In her role as his pregnant lover, she could be called before Voldemort on some whim. And memories concerning Harry would be pulled from her. If she was caught trying to hide secrets about Harry, she would get herself killed. Severus' life would be forfeit then as well.

"I can't go, Harry," she whispered, her head down.

"Hermione?" Harry said, shaking his head unsure he had heard her correctly.

She lifted her head and drew a breath that failed to settle her. She wanted to tell him she needed to do this to keep him safe. She wanted to explain that he was better off without her and that this separation was necessary. She wished she could assure him that she would never desert him like this if Dumbledore hadn't needed her.

"I can't go," she repeated as her tears started.

"All of those attacks, Hermione?" he said with agitation. "The people who are disappearing? It is only a matter of time before this becomes an open war. Hogwarts itself will be attacked. Nothing else is important anymore."

"It's not the school work. It's nothing like that. I _**want**_ to help you, but I just can't." She gripped her head. _Out with it,_ she told herself. _Just tell him. It's not done until he knows just how unsalvagable this is. Until he knows he can not depend on you_. _Tell him whatever you need to to make him walk away.... so that Voldemort will know he wants nothing to do with you._

But it was easier. Far, far easier, to convince them to turn their backs on her than she ever would have thought.

"I'm pregnant," she finally screamed as if she would burst.

"You're not," Ron insisted, shaking his head, denial written on his face.

But Harry looked at her, could see it all now. The way she had been acting, the little changes in her appearance. He took a step back from her, overwhelmed.

"It's true, Ron," Hermione said as calmly as she could. "And I'm sorry. Really."

"WHY, Hermione?" Ron asked unreasonably.

Harry then said angrily, "The Headmaster wouldn't let us tell you _**anything**_ until we were leaving. Why is that? Did he know you were pregnant?"

"Harry," she pleaded. But there was nothing else she could say. There were no lies that she could peddle now.

"Why would he let you stay here? If he has known...." Harry said fiercely as he backed further away.

"WHO, Hermione?" came Ron's plaintive voice. He wasn't mad, he was hurt. This was the girl he had thought he had known. The girl he thought he might work to deserve.

She felt ill. _**Who?** My God, if they knew._

The terror ran through her at the thought of their reaction when they found out it was Snape. And what would disgust them more? To think that she was pregnant like the thousands of careless, luckless teenage girls out there. Or that she had willing gotten pregnant by Snape at Dumbledore's bidding?

"Who, Hermione?" Ron said again.

"I can't tell you," she said simply.

"You went back to Krum!" Ron accused. "You told me you were not breaking up with me because of him and then you go back to him.... and you... you let him..." Ron could barely breathe with the image that was in his head. Krum and Hermione, naked and sweaty, laughing about how easily they had deceived him.

"That's right, Ron. _**I'm**_ pregnant and it's all about _**you**_!" she yelled as her patience left her.

Ron would listen to no more. Red in the face and with an angry set to his jaw, he pushed passed Harry and ran through the entrance.

"Hermione, I don't understand. There is so much we need to do," Harry's voice was uncharacteristically high suddenly. "So we can finish Voldemort," he said.

His whole head hurt now and he rubbed at his scar. It seemed to have taken on a disturbing weight of its own, as if it was something he consciously carried. He felt as if the Dark Wizard was drilling into his brain, basking in the betrayal he felt at Hermione's news. And Harry was so mad, so alone feeling, that he didn't care. He left his mind unguarded and let himself seethe. He had counted on her help. It had never occurred to him that when the time came for him to go on the Horcrux hunt that he wouldn't have her beside him to unravel the puzzle for him.

"My whole term, Hermione, has been spent planning this and worrying... about Occlumency and hexes. Counter curses and .... and," he sputtered, "then when I need you to help me, I find out that you couldn't even be bothered to keep from getting pregnant," he complained.

"Yes, Harry. The truth is out," came her bitter, stinging reply. "I am just so damned shallow that defeating Voldemort rates lower than a quick fuck. If that is what you want to think, fine! Great," she spat. "Maybe, I got sick of saving the world on a regular basis. Maybe, I couldn't stomach one more year of the Golden Trio... of dividing my brain three ways. Or could it be that I wanted something else out of life beside being tagged the "brightest witch of her age? Just believe whatever you want!"

Harry turned away from her with a frustrated grunt and strode hard for the castle doors.

It was cold out, she suddenly realized with a odd feeling of detachment, and she couldn't feel it at all. Never before had she been this angry. Never had she felt it well up and overtake her so completely. Never had she felt such indignation that she would gleefully feed her rage.

She had worried how to tell them, she thought to herself. She had felt horrible about letting them down, she'd felt guilty and ashamed. But it had been easy, so pitifully easy, for _**them**_ to think the worst of her. To wash their hands of her and walk away. With one statement, she had become an untouchable, a pariah. It only took one quick and clean snap to cast her off with no regrets.

They had no patience for anything ambiguous, for things that were subtle or gray, she saw. They wanted no part of an uneasy trust. They refused to suffer uncertainty or suspend judgment. In short, they wanted no part of her. Because the pregnant Hermione had ceased to be useful. She had stopped being what she was supposed to be: chaste, virtuous, uncomplicated, and always at the ready to answer to their whims.

No painful, intricate, torturous consideration went into their decision to sever their friendship. All it took was that one simple truth. _I'm pregnant._

Alone, she wrapped her arms around herself, and finally she moved for the castle. The entrance way was filling with students from the Great Hall and the adjacent staircases. Small groups stood together and whispered. Some stood in stunned silence, drawn there by the commotion Ron and Harry had made when they had burst back into the castle.

As Hermione moved through the entrance way, people backed away from her. Ginny stood at the base of the stairs that led to the Gryffindor tower, her eyes bore into Hermione's in sad disbelief. Neville looked wounded, as if this betrayal was personal. And three younger students pushed up the staircase behind her as if wary of being in proximity to her.

She never considered the pummeling this would give her. She never figured on the severity of the looks she got from them. The sense of betrayal. The sadness. The shame she would cause and be handed.

"Where are Ron and Harry? " Hermione asked Ginny in a soft voice.

"Packing," she said nodding in the direction of the Gryffindor dormitories. "Mione, tell me what happened. I heard Ron telling people you were ...." Ginny said, unwilling to even use the word. "Was it someone you were seeing over the summer? You never told me _**anything**_."

"I can't talk about it, Ginny. It's such a mess."

"What are you going to do?" Ginny asked harshly as she looked around to see the students gathering around them. The news would be spreading even now that Harry and Ron were leaving school, and Hermione was pregnant.

Sensible. Honest. Practical Ginny. The red head had no idea she was about to shatter Hermione's protective state of denial. Ginny took her by the arms and forced Hermione to look at her. "Hermione? A _**baby!**_? How are you going to take care of a baby on your own?" Those simple words. That basic concept that there were other things to worry about. Things other than morning sickness and dark wizards. The size of her stomach and Snape's moods.

Hermione was starting to shake now. Panic was seeping in. She gripped herself tighter and let it happen. When she had made the clinical decision to begin this plan, there was so much she had not seen. How could she have been so shortsighted? She had been so ridiculously and willingly shortsighted.

_ You wanted to save Snape's life, help Dumbledore's plan, be part of defeating Voldemort. And that was as far down the road as you looked. _

All these years they had all depended on Professor Dumbledore to know the right thing to do. His guidance had yet to fail them. Didn't Dumbledore need Professor Snape if the war was going to be won?.. And wasn't Hermione the one Dumbledore needed to prop up Snape and make him look like a valuable, loyal Death Eater?

Her eyes on the flagstone floor now, she ran it all over again and again in her mind. _It had been right thing to do, _she reassured herself_. _

But the role she had taken on, she now saw, did not end when the war was over. Did not end with saving Severus or the death of Voldemort even.

It would not end. Because Hermione was fairly certain you could not just magically stop being a child's... mother.

She looked at those faces all around her and she saw, it would not be all right. Not for her. Not ever again would it be simply _**all right**_.

She had sold her soul as surely as the man she had been recruited to help protect. To conceive a child as part of a lie? A child. And suddenly the vision she could not shake was of an infant, arms and legs thrashing, crying and inconsolable.

There are things you cannot undo. There are lines we are not meant to cross. And places we should not allow ourselves to be led.

She understood now, the anger that Severus had shown when he realized the plan, the sadness and outrage in Professor McGonagall when she confronted the Headmaster. How was the Light any different from the Dark now that they had perverted the creation of life?

She turned at the sound of Harry and Ron coming down the stairs from the Gryffindor tower. Their expressions were hard and determined.

"We're leaving now," Harry told Ginny. "There is no point in waiting. I don't want to...." his words faded off and he looked at Hermione quickly.

Ron glared at her. She could see his chest start to heave with emotion, and he dropped his duffel bag and moved closer to the two girls.

"We were counting on you, Hermione," Ron said.

"Leave it, Mate," Harry said firmly with a hand to Ron's arm. The two boys said their farewells to Ginny, and Hermione backed away as if to symbolically leave that group.

She turned and took quick steps to put some distance between herself and those gathering in the entrance hall, and that was when she slammed into him. She knew it was him. She knew the smell and the feel of him now. And she felt stupidly and wrongly _**home**_. Frozen, she was holding on to his robes with one hand - half turned from him and half turned to him - as if she could not decided what he was to her. His arms came up, but did not embrace her.

"Miss Granger," he said evenly. "Look at me!" he insisted. And she did. His head was held proudly. His breathing calm and measured. He quirked an eyebrow at her.

Was he trying to help her?

As she drew in her own calm breath, he moved to step backwards and away from her. She released him then and nearly smiled at the absurd show he was now making of smoothing out his robes.

All around them a crowd was gathering to stare at her.

"I heard she told Weasley she was pregnant. But it's not his...." she heard someone hiss.

She turned slowly, her arms wrapped about herself. She looked at them all in turn now. Forcing her chin to stay up and not to tremble. And she met each of their stares, willing herself defiant instead of cowed.

"Not so perfect now, huh, Granger," someone teased, but that person shrank from view as Hermione turned to find him.

"Miss Granger," came a stinging and familiar Highland's voice. "You will follow me." She turned and there was the straight, stern woman. Minerva had come to give her her way out, the two woman knew, as they regarded each other. Hermione sighed and fell in behind her.

Once to the woman's office, Hermione pulled herself up straight, steeling herself for the words Professor McGonagall would have to say. Seeing the brave show Hermione was attempting, Minerva walked to her, pulled her in to a light embrace. "You have not been abandoned. And I'll always be here to help when I can. But your communications will need to be quite circumspect."

Hermione nodded.

"You'll pack your things," the older woman explained softly. "Then I will come collect you from your room. By the main entrance, I'll turn you over to Hagrid. He'll walk you to Hogsmeade. He'll put you at the Hog's Head Inn. God knows if this is what the Headmaster wanted," she said with a sad shake of her head, "but the school is in chaos right now with the news that the Head Girl is pregnant."

Hermione almost apologized. And then an absurd thought took hold of her and she smiled. "At least I won't have to serve detention this weekend."

Minerva smiled then too. "Yes. But do try to mind your temper in the future. It can't be good for you..."

"_...or the baby._" That unspoken thought hung there, making Hermione suspect Professor McGonagall held those old beliefs that pregnant women needed to guard against emotional upset and distemper.

"I'll do everything I can to help Harry, Professor," Hermione said solemnly.

"What I want to hear, Miss Granger, is that you will take care of yourself... and then the baby."

"Yes," she promised.

But she wasn't really sure how she would do that.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: Thanks for reading AND for thinking about what all this might mean. This is the longest chapter I have written. It came to me in bits. I wrote one scene while ferrying children about in the minivan. Others came to me at odd times. I scribbled things down in pencil or hammered them into my iPhone. I guess the point is that this chapter took a long time to write as I tried to stitch it all together. I wanted to do it JUST right. But I also have a part of me that wanted to portray things _differently_ than other authors have.

As always, thanks, Sel.

* * *

Those first hours that she spent at the inn in Hogsmeade were among the longest of her life. The uncertainty and the isolation ate at her. She sat, stunned, on the edge of the bed in the second floor room. Her eyes rested, unseeing, on her trunk.

Her mind kept falling on those same thoughts. _There are things you cannot undo._ _There are lines we are not meant to cross. And places we should not allow ourselves to be led._

_And THAT is exactly where I have ended up_, she concluded with distaste.

Finally, she roused herself from her stupor, and decided she should stop thinking and do something. She would clean up. Wash all traces of tears from her face and make her self presentable - despite her lack of foreseeable company.

She looked at herself in the mirror. She still wore the Hogwarts student robes, but Minerva McGonagall had magically removed the school patches from it. It would not do for anyone to see a pregnant girl walking about in school robes, she thought derisively.

It was getting late, she thought with a glance at the dark window. Late enough to put this day mercifully out of its misery and end it. Pushing thoughts of propriety out of her head, she decided it was depressingly fitting that she just crawl into bed in her clothes.

In her loneliness there in the small bed and the unfamiliar darkness, she regretted her decision to leave Crookshanks with Professor McGonagall. But if anyone could explain the situation to Crookshanks, Hermione figured it was her animagus head of house. But then she corrected herself. _Her FORMER head of house._

She woke the next morning late. At breakfast in the inn there were only two others with her. She had porridge and the company of two quiet, down on their luck souls. Once back in her room, she read aimlessly and distractedly.

She finally convinced herself to go out. In near zombie fashion, she walked the town. She tried not to feel regret thinking of the enjoyable trips she had made there in the past with her friends. Her mind having nothing to occupy it, she couldn't help wonder, _what next? When will I hear from someone? Am I just supposed to present myself to the bookstore in Diagon Alley?_

--

She thought about Hagrid. Bringing her there in disgrace had almost broken the half-giant. He had kept staring at her belly and then when caught at it, he had invariably apologized.

Finally, Hermione had squeezed the man's forearm and told him, "I am going to be all right, Hagrid," though she didn't believe it herself. "Really. I promise you. Please, don't lose faith in me, Hagrid. I couldn't stand to think you hated me."

"Never," he sniffed. "I could never hate you, Hermione."

And looking subdued and a full 6 inches shorter, the man turned and began his walk back.

--

She walked for two hours, slowly. A hand slipping involuntarily to the hint of pain in her belly. She window shopped. Sipped a hot chocolate and had lunch, feeling unbearably and obviously alone behind her book.

Back on the sidewalk, she headed for the large bookstore on the corner. Answers had to come from somewhere, she reasoned. Maybe there would be something gained from a new book. She picked out two: _Welcome to Motherhood: Your Baby's First Year. _ This one sported a picture of an impossibly happy witch on the cover holding a perfect baby. And another. _The Real Deal: I'm the Mommy Now._

As she stared at the book covers she told herself, _because I have managed nearly everything else in my life through simply applying myself. I can and will manage this_. But the sick panic in her stomach told her it was a hollow thought.

She felt horribly self-conscious when she then pulled a copy of "A Wizard's Take on The Art of War by Sun Tzu" written by a young Auror turned historian off the shelf. As the days had grown more frightening for the Wizarding community the populace's taste in books had grown more macabre. More dark. Some of these books had been rushed to print more eager to translate fear into money than looking to inform. One, _If You Must Fight, Win_, was far too cheesy for her tastes. A Lockhart-like wizard posed on the cover. Quickly and easily, she decided the answer to what she needed to learn about fighting and winning did not lay with the Wizarding world. She could not understand that feeling. That decision. But in her gut, she felt the blinders were too securely worn among the majority of the magical community. And there was a history in the Muggle world that was better embraced than ignored.

Books in hand, there was nothing more to do but return "home" to the Hog's Head.

##

In her room, she shook off her depressing thoughts and paced a bit. Standing in front of the bureau, she decided to take stock of what she had. She emptied her jacket pockets and spread out the things she found. A broken quill, a pencil stub, a scrap of paper, a hair tie, Her muggle wallet with a small amount of money – decidedly less than a fortune. But the real lucky piece was the muggle credit card her parents had gotten for her. And the bank it drew from, she knew, still had a sizable account at her bidding.

Pushing her hand deeper into one pocket, she realized, there was a lump there. When she extracted it, she found it was a small leather purse that pulled closed with a cord. Inside it was, to her amazement, 47 Galleons 50 Sickles and 72 Knuts. Hagrid was not light fingered enough to have placed it there. It could have been Professor McGonagall, she decided with a sad smile.

She opened her trunk and began to remove and inventory the items. The process was giving her a small sense of control over her situation.

She counted out 32 books. A one inch stack of parchments.

Pyjamas.

Two pair of jeans which no longer fit correctly, despite her attempts to magically alter them to her new shape.

Two pairs of more forgiving muggle stretch pants. 4 white school shirts. One too small to button across the chest now. She stacked her warm weather wear off to the side with a sigh.

Winter cloak. 2 black work robes. Winter muggle jacket inside which lay a handkerchief. . Hat. Mittens. Scarf.

Tolietries. Enough shampoo, soap, and sundries for at least three weeks. _God help me,_ she thought. _I am inventorying toiletries._

Two jumpers. 1 pair of boots. 1 pair trainers. 1 pair dress shoes. One pair brown oxford shoes.

1 Cauldron, standard Issue. She paused now. Hefted the heavy thing in her hands, half tempted to toss it toward the window for the satisfying sense it would give her to be rid of one more thing that reminded her of school. Well, of Snape.

The man had stopped being 'Severus' in her mind, out of a sense of self preservation... Self preservation because she felt entirely too much for 'Severus.' But, she could try to cut herself off from 'Snape.' She kicked the cauldron under her desk with a grunt.

She pulled her date book out of her satchel. She thumbed through it roughly. There was a circle around the date two days hence. An ante-natal appointment. Watchtower Alley. Number 4. 9 am. In a fit of pique that began to rise in her, she was tempted to tear out all the pages that mentioned her assignments. She calmed herself and settled for methodically crossing each one out. She prided herself on only ripping the paper once.

Her stomach would not let her hide up in her room any longer. She headed to the bar, finally, to get a bowl of soup to take to take back up. She asked about the rate for the room and when she would be expected to settle. Aberforth told her with a curious look that her bill had been paid for 2 nights. That, and the now amused expression the man wore, made her feel that half the world knew more about her situation than she did.

She did not know what his connection to the headmaster was, but she was surprised to hear Aberforth say, "And from what I understand, you have pissed off the honorable and righteous Albus Dumbledore. For which I will throw in tonight's soup and extras," He gave her a teasing smile and with an odd little flourish he loaded a tray for her. "Here is a roll. An orange. And you'll get the free use of this cutlery," he told her.

She thought he was kidding about the free use of the cutlery. But she could not be sure. Severus was right. She _was_ gullible. She murmured "thank you," and carried the tray up to her room.

She was a reasonably brave witch, but she decided against eating at the room's desk until she had Scourgified it. Three times.

She finished the thick potato soup and put the tray in the hall on the off chance someone would come collect it or Accio it.

Then she tackled the books at hand. She separated out the those that she could not imagine being useful. Then she sketched out her priorities.

She wrote out:

1) discover what search Dumbledore, Harry and now Ron are on.

2) protect against attacks and uses of the dark arts.

3) keep me and baby healthy

4) learn more about Voldemort and his past

5) Occlumency

6) Defend Hogwarts.

She reread the list and decided to cross out number one. She would leave that for now. She would heed what Severus had told her and stay as blissfully unaware of their plans as she could.

Everyone seemed to agree that Voldemort would need to take Hogwarts in order to finish the war. WAR she wrote out and underlined three time. She would need to learn more about war. How to fight one. How one went about winning one.

Closing her eyes, she relaxed her mind. As she thought about Hogwarts, she finally decided enough people seemed to be worried about its defense. So, she should, as time allowed, she mused to herself, consider how to go on the _**offensive.**_

Finally, she just wrote out the word 'Severus' and underlined it three times. Then she circled it. Tapped it with her pen.... and finally, scribbled it out.

She looked up from her notebook and noticed the light was gone. She felt entirely too like Bob Cratchet as she eyed the single candle on her desk and was moved to warm her hands over its flame. She blew out the candle and by the light from her wand, she carried an armful of books to her bed where at least she would be warm.

She put aside the book on the history of spells to read from her enchanted pregnancy book.

##

_16 weeks pregnant _

_The baby continues to grow and take up more space in the uterus while showing a decided flair for movement. You, therefore, may experience movements for the first time, called fluttering. But First Timers will likely notice movement la_ter.

_Your heart is pumping about 20% (and up to 40%) more blood than it did pre-pregnancy. This increased blood volume is causing a few quirky side effects. You may notice varicose veins appearing on your legs. These can be permanent, so try to prevent them; avoid sitting or standing for long periods of time, walk at least a half hour a day to keep the blood circulating, and when sitting __**elevate**__, but __**don't cross**__, your legs._

"Oh, for Pete's sake," she groaned and uncrossed her legs.

_Dark veins are also appearing in your breasts and you may have noticed that the tissues in your vaginal area have swelled up, too, causing an increase in sensitivity, secretions, and sexual arousal._

"Succinctly put," she said to herself, "I feel like a cat in heat." She shifted uncomfortably, thinking about the dearth of activity taking place between her legs and then continued reading.

_The membranes in your nose have also swelled, causing stuffiness, and sometimes even nosebleeds. _

"Lovely!" she concluded, snapping the book closed.

She curled up on her side and shortly fell asleep.

In the middle of the night, she woke from a strange, but familiar dream. It was one she had not had since childhood. In it, she was Wendy, and Peter Pan was at her window. One look at him with his rakish smile, his brazen confidence, and she knew she could never doubt the decision to go with him. It was like not making a decision at all, but merely appeasing Destiny.

Half asleep, she rolled from her side, her belly feeling leaden. She closed her eyes tighter against the reality of the room.

_There is no Peter Pan_, she told herself. _There is no Never Never Land. There are no happy endings guaranteed._ And then the dream seemed to not just linger, but to reclaim her. She heard the sound of the window swinging in. Then she felt the breeze that stirred the curtains. It was then that she lurched for her wand on the bedside table to confront the reality of an intruder.

The figure that crept over her second story window sill was no pan. Black clad and vaguely floating, now settling, he more resembled a wraith. A wraith that was careful to pull the window closed behind him now and latch it, she noted with confusion and then alarm.

"Stupify," she hissed, but the red jet of light from her wand that should have rendered her target unconscious seemed to dissolve around him.

"Salvio hexia," the voice explained. Hermione had been about to bring some light to the situation, but now there was no need. She knew that voice.

"Professor Snape," she said flatly.

With a non-verbal _Lumos_, he created a soft glow from his wand. Wordlessly, he raised it between them. And as he studied her, she studied him.

"It's freezing in here," he finally said.

She sighed and lay back down onto the pillow. She was astonished to admit to herself that she had thought the man might of asked how she was or shown some concern. It had been over 24 hours since she had been humiliated, dressed down, and thrown out of school. She had had no word from any one in that time.

Now, she realized she was in over her head. She had asked for this bigger stake in the war and now she was finding that her skin was too thin and her need for human contact too constant for her to get through the mere beginnings of the journey.

_Best he didn't ask how I was then, _she told herself.

"You are angry with me then or just mad at the world in general?" It was not so much a question from him as an accusation.

"No, neither. I'm adjusting," she said honestly. "It's all a little tougher than I thought."

He came a bit closer with his wand and she merely rolled onto her back to peer up at him. She was glad to have him there. She would not dare scream such a thing or grab the man and tie him down. But she was glad he had come. And so, consciously she was showing him her serene and patient face.

He inspected her and she purposely smiled up at him in a sickeningly sweet manner while he did so. All the better to show a man such as he that she was as unhappy with his actions as she pretended not to be.

"No more tears, I see," he merely said.

"Oh, mock me if you will," came her quick reply. "I'd like to see you pregnant. You'd be crying in your soup every time Professor McGonagall asked you to pass the salt. It's nothing at all like I thought."

"And just how did you imagine the wonder that is pregnancy?" he whispered with a lilt to his voice. He was falling easily into the old rhythms of their contentious, but enjoyable conversations.

"You may feel free to laugh, but I had thought it was rather nothing more than adding a beach ball to one's front."

"I am intrigued." he lied in his banter. "You mean, it is not!?"

"It is NOT!" she said with mock horror moving closer. She said nothing more, she merely stared up at him from the bed. The affect to him was painful. Why did he feel he needed to resist the comfort she represented?

He turned away from her. The business of looking on her being more than he could manage.

God had crafted him like every other man. He was a crucible for good and evil. As a child, he had been no different than any other, he had wanted to be held close and loved. But he and the world had conspired against God to make him this: the hardened man who backed away from no man, but from the guileless gaze of a virgin. He feared affection and attachment now, more than violence and hate.

He walked over to the table to steel himself. Ostensibly, his journey involved removing his cloak and hanging it over a chair. He approached her more carefully now. And then he let himself sink into the warmth of the sight of her. He felt compelled to close the gap a little, and then a little more still.

He reached into his trouser pocket, happy to have something to relieve the awkwardness. "You forgot this," he said as he extracted the essay, still in ball form, from his pocket. "The message. You missed it," he said in a teasing voice.

She unfolded the parchment as quickly as she could manage. It still pained her to see the T. But she quickly ignored that as she tried to see what he meant about a missed message.

"Read the comment again," he prompted.

_You have revealed how little you understand._

Then she saw it. _You have REVEALED how little you UNDERSTAND._

She groaned.

"Revelio," she said as she tapped the parchment with her wand.

"Nothing is that easy when I am involved. You need to say my name. The counter spell is specific to me.

"Revelio, Severus," she whispered. Her eyes wide, she watched the parchment.

"What does Andromeda want?" appeared in an anonymous block script.

She lay back down out of exasperation with herself. "I cannot believe I threw it at you," she said with some embarassment.

"I should not have included a note at all. Ridiculous thing to do," he murmured.

"Severus?" she questioned carefully as she looked up at him. "I don't want you to think I am weak and silly."

"But?" he asked brusquely.

"What I want is for you to stay tonight," she confessed.

He sat down on the edge of the bed as if the legs had just been cut out from him. And then he seemed to regard her intently, although the light was almost nothing at all from the dirty window.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"What for now?" he asked in light, breathy voice.

"For asking you to stay. I shouldn't ask you to do things you don't want to do. I ought to..."

And her words were lost. He trailed a single finger over her lips, if only to stop her from the tendency to chatter when silence would suffice.

"Move over," he told her simply.

"I don't want you to think I am insane. Some how mentally deficient," she said once they were lying side by side. "But I have suddenly realized what I have done. I thought about the pregnancy, but not the child."

"Dumbledore presented you with an impossible choice, Hermione. He made you believe my life rested in your hands, that you alone were responsible for saving me. What HE did was wrong."

"I did this," she seethed. "I could have said no." But she had trusted the Headmaster, and the notion that he needed her help had fed her ego, too, she admitted. The world was spinning now as these thoughts assaulted her. This was not some glorious secret mission, but a life – one full of mistakes – one that she would have to live.

"Tell me then. What did you do? What is the worst of it?" he said in a voice meant to coax her out.

"It is a child. A child I did not conceive out of love," she said, "but as a tactical consideration in a war."

Severus nodded. "That is how this started," he said remarkably gently.

"How the hell do I change that?"

"You don't change that. You move forward. Do you even want to keep the child? Surely someone would adopt him."

"I don't know," she admitted.

"You've only now had a change in how you see this situation. You have spent too much time concerned with me. You need to consider you. To fix this, if you keep the child, you need only let him know that he is wanted."

"It's not that simple," she objected.

"Do you think that you are the first woman to feel some regret over being pregnant? The first to be ashamed of the circumstances that led to her getting pregnant? But none of that matters IF the child is raised knowing he is wanted." He trailed off, letting what he had said sink in. "Are you embarrassed?" He then asked.

"I'm _**mortified**_...."

"Then the world will only give you more," he said simply as he laid a hand on hers. "Show them you are ashamed and they will try to shame you. I forgive you for this madness. The child will forgive you because you will love him. Just forgive yourself," he insisted a little too gruffly.

His hand flew back from her suddenly, as if he had only then become aware of its action.

"Do you think your...." and he considered the word to use. _Fascination? Preoccupation? No._ He began again. "Do you think your ...time spent with me was part of your mind's effort not to think about the pregnancy? Or something you did because the Headmaster had recommended it?"

"No," she said confidently. "It was you." She was smiling now.

And in something much closer to the voice Professor Snape used as a norm, he asked her, "Why did you kiss me. That first time?"

"That was two weeks ago," she said turning and then rising up to hold herself on a hand on the bed. "You've been wondering for two weeks?" She shook her head at him.

"Just explain it," he hissed. He was doubtful. Self loathing and suspicious. And ever the academician.

"I saw who you were that morning. I saw all the amazing things about you. And .... you got me tea," she said smiling. "Ginger tea. I'm sorry," she said apologizing for what she was about to say, "But that was sweet of you."

He looked away for a moment, uncomfortable with the way she was discussing this.

"You make me want to kiss you," she tried to explain slowly as she reached out to touch his arm. "You are brilliant. Wickedly funny. Talented. Dashing," she said and blushed. "And I look at you. And your eyes. The way I could just fall into them. And I want to kiss you. I want you to kiss me. And then it's ruddy fantastic and I don't want to stop." Feeling horribly put on the spot and embarrassed, she held a hand to her forehead then and demanded of him. "Why the hell did you think I would kiss you?"

"I couldn't imagine," he said off-handedly.

He let her kiss him then. Softly, sweetly. Chastely. Until she eased away from him to tell him more.

"You will think I'm childish, but it is not easy for me to think that Harry and Ron will never forgive me. I said some horrible things to Harry that night."

"What would have happened if you had not said those things," he asked patiently, knowing the answer.

"He would have pushed me for more information. He might have figured out WHEN I got pregnant," she said.

"He would have pushed you for more information, you are right. The Headmaster had planted those seeds of suspicion when he told Potter he could not confide in you. Potter was already paranoid when he approached you. When you told him you were pregnant that just confirmed for him that there was some sort of intrigue involved. What matters more is, do YOU think what you have done is unforgivable?"

"I hope not," she said sadly .

Severus nodded. "It will depend on each person. Some will come back to you. Some will not. There have been mistakes I have made. Things that I had hoped could be forgiven and overlooked. But _**we**_ do not get to decide when we will be forgiven," he said quietly, his eyes turned to the ceiling.

###

Later, he had rid himself of much of his clothing, and they had settled in to sleep. All her problems and fears were still real, she knew. They would still be there tomorrow. But she now had some measure of hope and confidence that she had taken from his words.

"You are amazing," she told him as she considered how he had eased her worries.

"I take it we can sleep now? No more pressing concerns," he teased lightly.

She turned away from him and tried to drift off, but it was no use. She gave up on sleep and turned until she was pressed up against him.

"I'm not your student anymore," she whispered in the darkness.

"What are you doing?" he asked as she found out his hand and drew it to her.

"Please? I can't lie here with you and not want you to..."

He was mesmerized by her. The fullness he felt as he skimmed his hand between her legs at her bidding enthralled him. Her responses to his touch were immediate. And his seemed to tumble close behind. Automatic. He felt the changes in himself. He could nearly catalogue them as they built in him. First, interest. Then a growing want. Desire approaching on madness pulsed in him now. He kissed her out of a sense of need. And finally... there was attachment and connection as he saw her face respond to him.

And in him then formed the desire to possess. The will to please.

She reached for him, touched him through the fabric of his shorts. Relieved to find him hard, she asked him, "Do you want me..."

"That's exactly what that means," he said silkily.

But, he was concerned. He knew her first time might not be too enjoyable and he wanted to give her the release she wanted now. "Let me make you come," he said a little too mechanically.

"And then?" she said breathlessly...

"And then," he said. "Yes."

His fingers teased her lightly and provoked her to arch toward him. But he eased his touch as he began to trail kisses down her chest. For a moment she wished he would touch her again. Frustrated, she moaned. And then she realized his kisses were traveling. Suddenly, they arrived.

The sensations were intense. Near frantic. She wanted to tell him it was too much. And then her limit claimed her in a quick, exhilarating grab.

"Amazing," she said in between the lingering kisses that followed. He thought she might drift off to sleep, but instead her touch became more demanding.

He whispered to her, "You want this?"

Her hands stroked his side and she said "I want _**you**_."

Still, he worried. The responsibility he felt to do this right. And he had no idea what the right way was. Obviously, the pregnancy book had not covered virgins. Just sex with cranky, pregnant women.

He was on top of her now, but holding himself off her, wary of her belly. "Is it too much?" he asked.

"I have no idea how much is too much," she told him.

"I meant, your belly. The baby?" he said with a smirk he placed at the side of her face.

"I was trying to make a joke," she told him as she stroked his face. "I'm fine. Just nervous," she admitted.

He froze, wondering what to do. Somehow, he decided to cede control.

"If you're nervous, we'll stop," he whispered as he pulled away from her.

"Don't you dare," she said as she grabbed for his arm. But he had rolled off of her and was on his back now. What happened then, he felt, was wondrous to watch.

In slow, determined fashion she climbed on top of him.

He shouldn't have been surprised; this is what had needed to happen. He had seen her memories. He knew that horrid crone of a witch Dumbledore had inflicted on her had hurt her. She needed to control her first time. To do it her way. He just hoped they would make it through unscathed.

She kissed him as he gently pushed up against her. She gasped and her hands dug in to his biceps quickly.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm not trying to hurt you."

"That's my line," he said.

"Shhh," she told him as she leaned back and took him in hand. She lifted her chin then and closed her eyes, shutting out her worry and just enjoying the feel of him.

And with that she rose up to prepare to take him in.

He tried to relax, but the sight of her hovering over him gave him a brief and terrifying vision of impending disaster.

They might as well both be virgins – and on a tight rope, juggling flaming batons- for all the success he saw.

_What are the chances she will get this horribly wrong? Stick things where they just will not go? She'll snap the thing in half, just when it was beginning to remember how it felt to be sweetly wrapped up, warm and nestled_...

_I'll be maimed for life. And she will end up frustrated, frigid, and ... mad at me because I am supposed to know what I am doing._

In some book he should have read, there was probably a paragraph which said, "Do NOT allow a head strong and fearful virgin to attempt to ride bare back."

_Oh hell, her eyes are closed. _

_Can she get this right?_

And as she settled on him, stretched around him, his mind called out: _Oh, God. She most assuredly has. _

She looked at him finally. As if telegraphed to him from far off, he could see a smile start to creep across her face. She rose and fell then. Slowly, maddeningly slowly, until any sense of rhythm failed her. And then she stopped entirely as her strength fled.

She groaned with mild frustration and exhaustion, as he coaxed her to lie gently on him. Her weight on her elbows, her belly rested lightly on his.

As he began to move, she found – with a gasp --that she had the strength for _THIS. _The swell of the sensation built in her. A wave, she thought as she gleaned the expanse of it in her mind.

It was not the edgy feeling she'd experienced with him before, that tension that clamored for release.

It was something not quite here, but increasingly with her. Full, but not yet complete. And like a wave, it moved with tremorous ripples and then a rush. And finally, it ebbed without leaving.

_Limp and blissed out,_ he thought proudly as her whimpers gave way to a sigh. And he stayed still a moment. But _**still**_ was not what he wanted to be. _What we need to do_...... he was thinking. _Would she mind?_ he quickly asked himself. _Look at her, she's happily insensible, would she even notice?_

But he was sure that in that unread book of sexual warnings there was one on rolling while coupled with an uptight, pregnant woman, who -if not for the activities of the last 20 minutes – would be classified a virgin. Even _if_ that woman was currently putty.

He was thinking _'roll over.' _ He was close to thinking, _'Roll over, my sweet, beautiful thing.'_ But what she got from him was a grunt. She got dry lips pressed to her neck as he rose a bit – and a possessive hand to her bottom.

Gently, he eased her off him. 'Roll over,' he finally managed with a quirky smile. He pushed at her hip, followed her over. Snugged himself against her gently. All except for THAT part of him. He kissed her, ran a devilish tongue across her collar bone and nipped at a nipple. And THAT part teased at her down below. And he hoped and waited, even believed it might happen.

Then it did.

"Severus," she scolded as she grabbed his arse. "Severus," she complained again... and she pulled him. Exactly. In. He groaned into her neck, high on being desired, in demand... on being that thing she needed.

His rhythm did not fail him and his strength was barely tapped. But he let it go. Let it run away from him unchecked, with a gasp of pleasure and surprise.

And as his weight rested heavier on her, she pushed at him. She chuckled then and told him, "_You_ roll over."

And with an uncharacteristically contented sigh, he did.

She curled up on her side next to him, "IS everything different now? Everything **_feels_** so different."

"I don't know. Try not to think so much. Just sleep."

And as her eyes closed and his fingers trailed across her cheek, he whispered. "Andromeda. Hmmm? Andromeda, mine."


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: Fun, fun, fun. The adults only variety. Also, I have simplified the confusing Horcrux stuff and bent it to my will! (Laughs evilly)

Thank you, Selmak!

* * *

He stayed with her for half of Sunday. A multitude of emotions moving just under the surface for them both. And nearly all of the feelings too fragile to do anything with but leave them, unspoken and unseen.

She went down to breakfast and then brought up a tray of food for him to eat. He was showered and dressed when she returned. Once he had eaten, she kissed him. Tugged at his shirt and pressed up against him.

"Again?" she asked in a voice too shy to belong to the woman fiercely gripping his clothes.

"Tell me," he teased, enjoying the feel of a woman desperate for him. He put his lips to her ear, "You want my mouth on you? Or you want to feel me in you?"

She shivered from the words and his breath on her skin. "Yes. I want it all," she told him before she pushed the coat from his shoulders.

He had half his clothes off before he backed her up to the bed. His hands testing and teasing as he pulled her shirt off . He dragged his face and hair over her skin, creating a wash of sensations through her. He kissed every inch he exposed as she lay on the bed, but she wanted more. She gripped his face to try to drag him up to her, to convince him to stop teasing her and to take her then.

He hesitated, his chin in her hand. "Patience," he told her calmly and turning his head, he kissed her palm. Then he took her hands and put them over her head. Her eyes were on him now, wide and questioning. He formed her hands around the slats of the headboard.

"Your hands," he drawled slowly, "stay _**there**_. Do you understand?"

She nodded, too unsure to say a word.

She whimpered and wiggled as he took his time pulling off her pants. When he kissed her hard through the fabric of her knickers she screamed and her hand flew involuntarily to grip his hair.

He stopped then and pulled back from her. Without a word he retrieved his wand from the bedside table. His slow pace giving her no measure of anxiety.

"Severus?" she questioned warily, expecting a binding charm.

He hissed an Imperturbable charm at the walls, ceiling and floor. And then he told her, "Scream all you want witch, but keep your hands up there. Remove them and I will stop."

She heard herself whine when he mentioned stopping.

"So you want me to stop?" he asked as he handled both her breasts.

"No," she gulped.

She was panting now, confused, but utterly spellbound by him. Their sex the night before had been satisfying. To the point and undelayed. It had met their needs and quickly. But this? What he was doing was creating as many needs as it was relieving.

Her knickers were still on. That is what held her focus. That small bit of material was a sign between them that there would be no true relief for now. And yet he would not remove them and would not allow her to.

He knelt between her legs now and ran his hands over her breasts and down to her hips. He squeezed her thighs then and snugged his shorts-covered erection hard against her center.

"Oh God," she said at the sensation.

"Do you trust me?" he asked in a gravely voice..

"Not completely," she admitted. "Not when I have no wand."

"Smart witch," he said, praising her. And then he bent to lick at her. He deftly worked his tongue under the elastic of her knickers. "_**Delicious**_ witch," he hissed. She whimpered now and twitched, trying to shorten the distance between her and his tongue.

And the smartest witch of her age, whom many thought the most arrogant witch of her age, began to beg and call out for divine intervention.

"I want to please you. I do," he said feigning a weak, unsure voice. He removed his touch from her completely and waited. She was nearly frantic now. "But I'm not sure you are ready."

She was done whining. She was done begging. "Now, you smug bastard," she ordered as she twisted her hips.

He answered her with his tongue, as his hands made short work of her knickers.

She didn't even know what precisely he was doing anymore, just what it FELT like. And it felt like an extremely pleasant explosion in her brain. Her climax was enough to leave her limbs tingling and to stun her breathing still.

"Breathe," he suggested, his lips now at her ear. And with a gasp she pulled in air and opened her eyes.

"Touch me," he said, once she looked reasonably recovered. It was then that she realized her hands were still above her head. He put his hands on hers and pried them from the headboard. Her fingers were numb from the grip she had exerted on the wood. And Severus believed the bed frame would need a good tightening after the force she had applied.

His beautiful hands led hers down to caress him. "Oh, God," she said for the hundredth time in the passed half hour.

"You are either, extremely religious or horribly profane," he mock scolded.

"Sorry," she said quickly.

"Liar," he accused.

"I am thinking you do not want to be stuck like this," she said as she stroked him.

"What do you suggest? Are you still hoping to hex my bollocks the size of bludgers," he asked as he moved in her hand.

"You heard that?"

"Half the school heard that," he whispered.

She lengthened her stroke, watching to see what pleased him. He moaned, closed his eyes. And emboldened, she leaned forward.

"I should apologize," she said as she cupped him lightly then with the other hand. He moaned louder now and opened his eyes to see what she would do next.

"We should kiss and make up," she said quickly, her nerve for this sort of play starting to fail her. And she planted a chaste kiss on him. He hummed his appreciation. He remained mostly impassive then until she took him in her mouth and tortured him with her tongue.

The experience quickly became overwhelming for them both. She enjoyed the gasp of surprise she got from him. But having never done this before, she mostly worried - about cutting him with her teeth. About the likelihood of his coming, given his groans. And about the lack of control his strokes were starting to show.

And with something nearing a shout, he stopped. He pulled back and without words, he settled her onto her back and wrapped her legs around his hips.

With a groan of relief, he slid into her.

"I don't want to stop. Never," he told her, as he labored for some restraint.

The pleasure he felt only grew. The promised high crept through him. He let loose a whine as he felt it take all of him. Too complete. Beautifully flawless and too, too much.

He cried out as he came undone. Sweetly and perfectly undone.

With him holding still now, she felt wondrously.... full. And when he moved to pull away, she reached for him. Held him there. Pulled his hips tighter in. "Just there," she whispered, her eyes closed. She didn't want to be rid of him, he realized, amazed. And he moved a bit while she seemed to search. And her voice caught in her throat as she found the sensation she had been looking for. Her face was sweet and tired and tense, as it built in her.

And then with a halting sigh, she relaxed and put a hand to his chest. Her hand stayed on him as he eased off.

He mimicked her then, put a hand to her chest, laid it between her breasts. He felt her heart race and knew his must feel the same to her.

He could not even describe what he felt, it was so foreign. But he knew he loved that sex with her was so incredible, so heart-poundingly insane.. And he loved that it made her look like ..._**that**_.

It was not quite real to him that she could want him so much. And for so long. That she could be so greedy, asking for just that little bit more of him. Struggling to hold him in after he was spent.

He wanted to rest his eyes, truly relax. But there was a reality that demanded to be served. He had to get up soon. And he still had to head back to Hogwarts. He would miss lunch now as well as breakfast and there was no skipping that afternoon's staff meeting, he thought.

##

She couldn't ask him to stay any longer. She couldn't hope that he would stay another night, go with her to the midwife's appointment the next day. And it was wrong to want so much, she told herself. Wrong to try to take as much of him as she could get on a Sunday morning so that she could store it against the future. But that was what she was doing. She had the premonition that there would be no rules left unbroken by the time the two of them had navigated being together.

"Aberforth has an owl," he said as he buttoned his shirt. "An old excuse for an owl. Thing smells like a goat. But he'll find me." He would not say, _ I wish I could go with you to the midwife's,_ because frankly it was beyond him to think a man would do such a thing. He would not hold her hand and whisper mindless words of affection or encouragement. But he would tell her this much, that he would receive her letters.

A depression tried to settle on her as soon as he left, but she wouldn't let it. Spreading her books out on her desk, she knew she should find her own purpose. No one would give her one. She would research and read until she had some information that was of value in the fight.

She would not allow herself to be a pawn that was sacrificed to Voldemort, either. It was pointless to wonder if there was protection being provided to her that she did not know about. She would assume she had to protect herself. And the child.

##

The Monday morning appointment went well. There was little to do but talk with the midwife, endure a little wand waving. Watch as the woman wrote in her chart and then smiled at her. Patiently, the older witch answered all her questions. Patted her knee. And then she paused. "I could tell you the baby's gender. Would you like that? Sometimes it helps. We get to feel we know the baby a little better, it makes it easier for some moms to bond..."

There had never been information offered that she had declined, Hermione thought. She nodded and returned the woman's smile.

The wand glided slowly. Side to side. Until the midwife stopped it and the tip began to spark a bit. "There," the midwife said excitedly. "Right there is your boy, in all his glory, with all his little dangly Wizard bits."

Hermione smiled like a drunken kneazle. "You are right," she said to the midwife. "I like knowing." Already a hundred images were popping and changing in her mind. Pictures of a boy. All rough and tumble. The kind that tore out the knees on his pants. The kind whose smile meant trouble. A quiet boy whose black eyes told you when he was hurting and needed to be held.

##

It took her a hour of concentrated effort to learn to hide information on parchment the way Severus had. She was ready now to send him a message that would be revealed with a spell specific to her.

She tore a page from the newspaper and encoded her message on it. Aberforth studied her as he told her where to find the owl she could send. She was happy enough that his curious attention did not bother her, but only made her smile more broadly.

Aberforth's owl found him at lunch. The old grey thing was as dodgy looking as his owner, and smelled as off as the man's clothes did.

"Odd," Minerva merely said as she watched Severus unwrap a sheet of newspaper.

"And the thing smells like....." Pomona started, wrinkling her nose.

"Yes," Albus finished for her, "a goat."

There was a chance the message was urgent, he thought to himself. I should not leave it in my pocket until the break before dinner. And so, he stole a few minutes in his office before his class.

He smiled as he realized she had devised the same obscuring charm, one specific to her name.

He read the short note through quickly and was reassured that there was nothing there which demanded any immediate action from him. He hesitated then. The note should be destroyed, he thought. But still, he put it in his pocket.

What was wrong with him? What was it he felt? He didn't know. He couldn't place the disturbance that plagued him now. He only knew he _**felt**_. Something had weaseled its way into him. Lodged itself in his chest. Running his fingertips over his coat, he could feel the lump there that was the folded note. He was sure he could even hear it crinkle. And in his mind he could see the words again.

"It's a boy. I'm fine. He's fine. Thank you for Sunday."

He didn't know that there were a hundred other things she had wanted to write. Things about how he made her feel. About how it had felt to look up into his face and see him ... happy.

His hand on the door, he stopped. Once the note was in his hands, he dropped it to the floor with a sigh. He incinerated it where it landed. He touched that spot in his coat where the note had lain. A spot right over his heart where her hand had been just the morning before. And it was as if the note was still there. His finger tips betrayed him, registering a phantom there. And the words she had written still sounded in his head.

"I will collect you tomorrow for your trip to London," was Severus' less-than-romantic reply, sent before dinner.

##

He had a vaguely odd feeling during his trip to Diagon Alley to leave her in Hecate's Discreet Book Dealings shop. It was as if he did not know if this was a part of life or a part of some play.

Severus showed her around the store while they waited for the proprietor, Mr. Gandymeade. The old wizard was nothing close to how Hermione had chosen to envision him. He was dressed outlandishly in yellows that made him appear quite ill. He was frighteningly splotchy in the face from the mere exertion of moving from room to room. And when he shook Hermione's hand, she found the palm uncomfortably soft and sweaty.

The downstairs was divided into the shop and then the rear store room and office. The shop area itself was further subdivided by book subject matter. Dark arts texts were labeled, "Books for Discreet Tastes" and housed in a small alcove nearest the back.

Mr. Gandymeade took them up the narrow steps that led to the second floor. "We have outgrown the apartment up here," he explained. He described the apartment as vacant, but it was nothing of the sort. It became too small for the bookshop owner and his family, Ganymeade told them. And Hermione could see why. He had begun to store his overflowing inventory in the rooms upstairs until there was only the kitchen and bathroom that were easily navigable.

She saw Severus whisper to the man, and Gandymeade chuckled in a grotesque manner. It was obvious, and the effort to hide it half hearted, that Severus was palming some currency over to the owner.

Finally, the round, sweaty man left them.

While she unpacked, Severus eyed the titles of the books she had brought with her.

There were ones on protection from obscure curses, hexes, and poisons. There were copies of _Confronting the Faceless, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_, and _The Dark Arts Outsmarted._

He saw a completely ineffectual book, _Defensive Magical Practice_ that made him groan.

He bristled then when he found her copy of _Magick Moste Evile_. It was missing its covers, but he knew what it was as soon as he fanned the pages. The remaining few were mostly harmless. _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection and Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts _among them.

There were Muggle books, too. Books about battles, both mythological and real.

He hefted one last book. "_A Short History of the World_? Are you going to become an expert in world history now? In your spare time. When you are not reading dark texts, and clerking here..."

"No. If I wanted to be an EXPERT I would not have picked a SHORT history of the world. That is just a little back ground reading," she replied in a saucy tone.

"What are you up to? What are you doing with all these?" he said with narrowed eyes.

"They are books. I planned on reading them... I am not going to sit on my arse through this, Severus. I'm pregnant, not dead. If there are answers to be found. I am going to find them."

He knew. He just knew, the way his stomach dropped out at her words, that Hermione was not going to sit still. Was not going to stay safe. Was going to continue to be the an impossible charge.

##

It was rare to have the Order all together like this at Grimmauld Place. "And not at all safe," Alastor Moody kept mumbling. Albus walked to the head of the table and took his seat, vaguely beaconing those around him to come closer. To sit where they could. The younger members, the Weasely twins, stood on the edge of the room. Severus had also chosen to stand rather than relinquish the sense of security his back to the wall gave him.

"Harry and Ron are searching for the things that will end Voldmort's hopes of immortality. I have failed to do enough and it pains me that we have come to this. That the children must bear this burden," a haggard looking Albus told them. As much as hearing his words, those gathered were taking in the man who no longer looked the part of the world's most formidable wizard.

"We must protect the Muggles as best we can," Dumbledore continued in a weakened voice. "We must disrupt the Death Eaters where ever and whenever they appear."

Mad Eye nodded solemnly.

Arthur cleared his throat finally, "What about Hermione? What's happened to her?"

"She could not stay at the school. The board's guidelines do not permit such a thing," Albus said firmly.

"The Daily Prophet has been merciless," Arthur said. Molly leaned back a bit from the table as if to distance herself from her husband's statements.

"It should not surprise us that they prefer to focus on the failings of one student and the old headmaster than on the dangers we face," Albus said sadly. "I know we are sad to lose her talents. I know some of you may not agree with what has happened to her. But I do not see how she is a subject for this Order meeting."

There was a restless silence then that followed Dumbledore's tense words. The remainder of the meeting focused on how they would gather more information. How they would try to protect the Muggles. Especially the families of the students.

After the meeting, a few small groups talked in the house. Minerva stood with Mad Eye in the dim library. She rested wearily against the fireplace's mantel, a pose no student ever would have witnessed. He stood across from her one arm on the mantel, his head bent to be closer to hers.

"The diary has been destroyed and the ring has been destroyed," she said, not telling him anything he didn't know. She was just using him as a sounding board.

"Yes, but the locket, we can not be sure about. The one Kreacher was told to destroy is not here any more."

Minerva nodded and Alastor continued. "There is the Hufflepuff Cup, but we don't know where it is or if it really is a Horcrux."

"Nagini," Minerva put in with a small shudder. "In my soul I know that beast is a Horcrux. And then there must be something belonging to Rowena Ravenclaw."

"And the seventh piece remains with Voldemort," Moody said with a nod.

"Filius and I have spoken with Binns and several portraits. I am convinced that the Ravenclaw artifact is Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem."

"_**What**_ it is is only half the problem though. Where is it? I have heard Filius say it might be in Albania."

"No. It was. But we got word from Nymphadora and Remus just last night. Albus now thinks it may be in Hogwarts itself."

"Then that will be up to you to find I expect, love." She smiled a tired smile at him at the use of the endearment. It signaled his desire to stop talking shop and spend what little time they could that evening as a couple.

He moved a half step closer and ran his hand over her arm. "We could go back to my flat. I'd have you out the door in plenty of time for breakfast," he whispered despite the lack of anyone else in the room.

"I'm rather partial to my own rooms. My own bed," she told him.

"And I have all my wards just the way I like them at my place. I am starting to think you do not like my accommodations."

She shrugged, dropped her head. No one could make her act and feel like a shy school girl but Alastor.

"Kiss me before you make up your mind," he near purred. And he tipped her head back and kissed her tenderly. Her arms wound around him then.

"You know, my girl, you are that thing I am fighting for. Hmmm? A hero has to have his maiden. His fiery, Scottish maiden," he added with a smile he could not contain. He leaned in to whisper in her ear. "And those memories of her... of _**you**_, so.... breathtaking and so....._**lively**__... _in my bed," he said ending with a growl.

Her hands were gripping the fabric of his coat roughly now as a shiver ran through to her toes. _Devil of a man_, she thought. _How does he do that to me?_

She kissed him ever so slowly and thoroughly. He told himself not to get his hopes up. _Oh she is pushing you for the fall, Old Boy. She'll leave you wanting. _

But then she worked a hand under his coat, so that only the thin fabric of his shirt was between her and his skin. The small circles she was working on his back were giving him hope. He smiled, stood there holding her patiently, waiting for her to make up her mind.

"Scamp," she accused looking at his hopeful expression.

"Hellion," he whispered seductively.

"Rascal," she purred.

"Imp," he said as he leaned forward to kiss her throat. "Beautiful," he said as he began to punctuate his speech with kisses. "Be-deviling. Lusty. Temptress."

She groaned then as his mouth captured her ear lobe.

"My flat?" he asked with a unsuccessfully hidden sound of victory in his voice.

"I don't even care any more, you incorrigible old Honey Bear," she hissed.

And he led her away by the hand.

##


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: Tough stuff this. Sorry for the wait. I swear I wrote this one three times. Sel, I thank thee. Thou art witty.

Thank you for reading!! It just makes me all wigglety-pigglety inside to know that there are live people out there reading this. And in case you are worried, "wigglety-pigglety" is mostly a good thing. But it does take some getting use to.

* * *

Hermione fell into an easy routine at the store in that first week. She didn't need to open until 10 am each morning, giving her time to eat her breakfast with her research at hand. Too often she was pushing the crumbs off the pages or smacking the books to clean out the binding. She would set her books aside then and go down to the shop. She dusted off the rows of books, sorted and re-shelved the new deliveries and the volumes left lying around. It was a quiet bookstore, very few people wandered in before the owner and his wife arrived at 11am. Hermione was able to take off two hours in the middle of the day, and then she ran the shop herself from 4pm, when the owners left, until 6pm when she locked up.

Her evenings were her own. It was a lonely way to live after having grown accustomed to being surrounded by people at Hogwarts. And it was impossible to deny that her books and her research were no substitute for her friends and family.

Severus had lingered in her apartment the day he had brought her there, but she had not seen him since. He had helped a bit with her unpacking, and then had purposely stayed longer.

She was not so naive as to not understand. They were acting in the same play. Watching each other, speaking around the real issue, which was 'would they or wouldn't they end up in bed?'

He was not a shy man, but his life had left him too wounded to risk rejection. Severus thought it entirely likely that her need for him had been confined to those two days previous, or that she now regretted having a physical relationship with him.

It would be up to her to let him know what she wanted, she decided as she watched him. And she wanted to have him stay the night without the promise of sex. But, would he? If it was only for the closeness and the comfort? Would he stay?

"I need to go soon," he told her before she even asked. There was a meeting he needed to get to, he explained.

_How long CAN you stay?_ she wanted to ask. But she would not embarrass herself by acting so sodding sentimental.

"See if you can get a kettle on in that kitchen," he said as he pulled on his winter coat. "I'll get you some groceries to get you through the next few days and be right back." And he was out the door before she managed to say, "All right."

There were moments like this when she felt the promise of any companionship from him came with too much resistance and awkwardness to be worthwhile.

"Don't stay up," he told her later, once the groceries were away. "Get some rest. I'll check on you this next week. And you can always send me or Minerva an owl if there is a problem." But she didn't move. She just stood facing him, silent. He walked her to the bedroom and with his hands to her shoulders, pushed her to sit on the bed. She still didn't say a word. She curled up on her side with her back to him and waited, aware of him so close to her. She had wondered if she would feel the dip to the bed that meant he was curling up behind her, if only for a moment before he left. She thought perhaps she would feel him hovering over her, leaning in to kiss her good night. But instead she heard him straighten, and she knew he would just leave.

"Don't be so difficult..." she said suddenly as she rolled over to catch the hem of his coat. His eyes were lit now with confusion. "Tell me what it is you would like there to be between us," she continued. "Because I can't even guess. Do you wish you hadn't slept with me?"

"I wish I didn't feel like a disgusting old man constantly pinning you to the bed. Now go to sleep. I need to get to an Order meeting."

"Good night, then," she said quietly, trying not to show her disappointment.

"Good night," he murmured as if from a distance.

##

When it got too lonely and the work load in the bookstore too light to keep her busy, she came up with something new. She fixed an old book shelf and then magically fastened it to a rickety wooden cart kept in the store room. She used spells to experiment with colors for this new contraption and then once it sported a red and yellow umbrella, she levitated it outside the shop and set it up as a book stall.

Her contraption started to get some sideways glances and even some positive notice. The owner saw the increased traffic and so was happy enough. At the end of the day, she smiled as she moved her book stall back in for the night. The next day she would stock some racier titles outside, she thought laughing to herself.

That next morning she looked out the shop window at her book stall. Even with the blocked view she knew who was out there, and it made her panic for just a moment. Then they saw her, too. And with trademark Weasley Twin grins, the pair pushed into the store. Fred and George did seem to have changed a bit. They dressed a little more business-like and most surprisingly, they each held a book.

"Hermione! Hiding out?" George accused good-naturedly.

"As if she could hide that," Fred kidded pointing at her belly.

"Don't mind, Fred. He's always been the crude one." And George elbowed his brother hard.

Hermione was surprised at how easily they dealt with her and with the pregnancy.

"I was wondering if I would see you two down here," she admitted.

"Why didn't you stop into our shop? It's just around the corner!" Fred said.

"Well, I couldn't be sure you would want me to. I am not the most popular person right about now. I thought you might be embarrassed to see me."

George laughed. "You aren't embarrassed to be seen with US are you?!"

"No. Of course not. But THIS," she said with a hand to her stomach. "This isn't something I can just blot out."

"Nope, you are fairly stuck, I would say," George said.

"Well, Self-Obliviate is going to get you no where. Not when you just keep waking up like that," Fred said leaning forward to gently touch her belly.

"Fred has a lot of experience with Self-Obliviates. All of his dates do it right after he drops them off."

"At least I have dates," Fred said with a wink.

"Don't worry, Hermione. I hear being pregnant is not permanent, I mean, not like STUPIDITY," George said glaring at his brother. "And once you figure out what caused this one, you can just not do that anymore!"

"So, this guy," George said then more seriously. "Do you need us to find him?"

"Do some damage," Fred put in. "Give him a thrashing."

"I could FERRET him out," George said with a wink.

"Good try," Hermione joked. "But it is NOT Draco."

"Phew!" George said.

"How about a little CASTIGATION?" Fred said cheerily.

"Ewwww! That sounds too much like ......" George said wincing.

"Yeah, I know. That's why I like saying it," Fred said with a grin.

"Did you two come in here for a reason," she hissed as an elderly wizard walked in the front door.

"Yes!" Fred said enthusiastically. "We wanted to see if you were carrying any of the new comic books, _The Avenger's Wand_, things like that. We might start selling them and we wanted to see what you lot were up to first."

"No, we have about 5 of the classics. That's it," Hermione said.

"And.... we wanted to test THIS," George whispered. And he opened the book he had been carrying.

##

"What are you doing for Christmas, Severus?" Minerva asked him a few days later. Her hand was near his chest and she was effectively blocking his exit from the now empty staff room. The words were far from innocent, he knew. The woman was about to try to take control of his time. He was wise to her ways, he thought.

"If you leave her sitting alone and pregnant on Christmas, Severus...." Minerva said leveling a fierce eye at him.

"I will stop in then," he said, trying to make his willingness sound grudging. "Just to ensure she is getting along all right. And I will be sure to report back for you," he said with sarcasm. "You can visit her yourself you know, Minerva."

"And do take her a _**gift**_, Severus," Minerva told him, ignoring his peevish tone.

"I am sensible to these things, Minerva," he protested.

"And not something that is related to the pregnancy. Yes, you can get her something that has to do with that, but get her something just for her." And Minerva winked at him, making him narrow his eyes at her with unease.

##

He had considered it, even before Minerva's meddling. He had run his fingers over the heavy, silver pendant that lay next to the photo in his drawer.

_What are you waiting for?_ he asked himself.

_You'll die. Minerva will come here to clean the rooms and there will be these things. Socks, and books, and this pendant. And no one will know what it is or why you have had it. It is not some treasured family heirloom. Just an interesting bauble. So, let go of it now. It's all that's left of her.... of your mother. And the child. The boy. He would be her grandson._ The thought stilled him for a long time.

"God have mercy," he said out of reflex ... a long lost and borrowed reflex.

He put the pendant in his pocket, his decision made. He would take it to Hogsmeade and have it cleaned and properly boxed for her.

##

They sat together on her small couch, and she held the tiny wrapped box in her lap. This was the part of the evening he was dreading most. He felt foolish and ill-at-ease watching her unwrap the pendant. _It will pass quickest if we stick to the established roles, _he decided_. She will tell me it is lovely. I will tell her it was my mother's and we can move on, _he consoled himself.

She was stunned to see the pendant when she lifted the lid from the box. It was not at all something obscenely delicate or ridiculously childish. It was intricate, but strong, and shaped like a compass rose. It appealed to her immediately as the sort of thing a woman with purpose wore.

"It's beautiful. Thank you," she told him. She leaned over to kiss him, and it was the lazy, sweet kiss that she had seen her mother lay on her father's lips for years.

The chain was long enough that she could pull it over her head. And once she checked to make sure it was hanging just so, she looked up at him seeming sincerely happy. "It's a wonderful design. I've never seen anything like it. "

"It was my mother's. She had wanted to travel," he said explaining its significance. "But she settled. And settled too early with the first man to show interest." He stood and walked away as he talked. Subconsciously putting some distance between himself and the topic, it seemed.

"Then when I travel, I will think of her," she said optimistically. "This baby. It is hard to think of it this way. But he is all those people, perhaps. Everyone who has come before. And me. And you."

He turned his head away and seemed to try to dodge the words a bit.

"It may be a while before you get to do much traveling with a child I would think," he finally said.

"Actually, there are some things I need to look into sooner. Before the baby even."

"Hermione," he said with accusing eyes. "What are you thinking?"

"I need some answers and I can't get them sitting here in a book shop. You could come with me," she said enthusiastically. "And if we aren't done by the time school starts back up, you could come back and I would follow later."

"Listen to me, you don't need answers and I'm not going anywhere," he told her quickly. "At least not anywhere that the Dark Lord or the Headmaster don't decide to send me. The last thing I need is one more person controlling my life, telling me where I am expected to be," he told her bitterly.

"Fine. Really, don't get mad at me," she said as levelly as she could manage. She moved for the kitchen, finding it easier to deal with her rising temper if she moved about the room. "It was just a thought. You don't want to come. Don't come. I'll be alright."

"Can't you just stay put?" he called out to her. "Can't you ever just do what you are asked to do and stay out of trouble? You do understand that I have put you here because it is _**safe?**_"

She stepped back into the room carrying a tray of biscuits. And a brightly wrapped package. "Come on," she said side stepping his anger. "It's time for your present. I tried to think what sort of book I could get you, Severus. And I just could not pick one."

He unwrapped the book cautiously and found its cover was blank, and when he opened the book to inspect the fly leaf, he still found nothing. The pages were all similarly empty.

"So you got me a _blank_ book?" he asked with amusement.

"I got you THE blank book. It is a new, well.... experimental Weasley product. It displays what others are reading. No spells. No wand required," she explained happily. "It has a range of about 20 feet. You imprint it to you. That way if someone else picks it up it will look like an ordinary book of your choosing."

"I am rather surprised that the Weasley twins would concoct something which was ... literary," he said as he rotated the small volume over in his hands.

"Well, that is not how THEY see it at all," she chuckled. "They wanted to be able to read another team's playbook. See what their girl friends were reading. Or catch Molly reading some trashy novel or another."

While he dizzily pondered Molly Weasley reading smut, Hemione sat down beside him and patted his knee to get his attention.

"Now, for your final present," she said as she fished in the basket that was on her side table. She pulled out a small object decked out with a bow. When he unwrapped it, he found it was a simple bottle, unlabeled, and filled with some oily substance. She was smiling at him in a way that made him wary.

"What is it?" he asked.

"It's for your back. And I will rub it in for you right now, if you want to follow me." She stood then and extended her hand.

He felt his stomach tighten, felt the teasing pull of desire. "I think you should open my other present then, first," he told her in a silken voice. He stood. Reached into his jacket pocket, but did not hand her the small, soft parcel that he extracted. Instead, he took her hand and led her to the bedroom.

The small package turned out to be a deliciously soft nightgown. She unfolded it and draped it over herself, finally raising her eyes to his to smile. "Beautiful," she told him. "Thank you."

"It is larger there in the front," he said. And his eyes followed his fingers' slow path across her belly. "So, it should fit you for a while. As you get bigger." With that last statement, he tugged lightly on the fabric over her stomach, making it billow out further and further still, as if to tease her.

"You are very ..._**sweet**_," she told him in a voice that said something else entirely.

And he gave her a critical look, as if he was trying to find the meaning behind that statement. _Have I made him worry with what I've said? Hmmmm_, she thought, I_ can fix that._ And she pressed closer to him. Pinned the nightgown between the two of them and pressed laughing kisses to his mouth before biting lightly at his lower lip.

His mouth was to her ear then, and she felt his hand trace down from her neck. "There is, I am told, a placket of some sort.... right about here..." he said as his fingers coaxed her nipple, "that allows the baby to get at your breast. A notion I find .....frightening."

"Mmmmmm," came her response "Right now, I'd have to agree."

"I thought perhaps you didn't own nightgowns," he teased in a seductive voice. "You always start out in your clothes and then end up... decidedly UNDRESSED. Truly, I worried that you might develop consumption due to your inability to stay clothed."

She moaned at the things his voice was doing to her. Raising her foot, she curled it around his leg to stroke down his calf.

"I didn't know you had expected me to pack for the nights when I stayed in your rooms," she finally teased back. "I could have brought my flannel pajamas, teddy bear. Crookshanks.... I thought if I packed all that to stay the night you would find it a mite calculating."

"Or merely prepared," he countered. "Don't Gryffndors pride them selves on being prepared?"

"You are confusing us with the Boy Scouts, perhaps?"

"Unlikely," he told her before he bit her neck.

She pulled back from him and told him, "If you'll just lie down, I'll give you that back massage I wanted to."

Once he was settled on the bed with his shirt off, she pulled a tray from underneath and sat it on the bedside table. Then she added the new bottle to it. He looked at the strange collection of things. Bottles of liquid. A grouping of smooth black stones. He watched as she placed a warming charm on the tray.

As she touched a heated stone to his back, she whispered, "We are in this together. One way or another, we are a couple," she said, hesitantly. "I want to help you when I can," she whispered.

"You can't count on me. You can never let yourself come to rely on me," he warned. "Even my pathetic life is not my own to spend or keep," he explained, bitterly.

A single tear fell down her cheek and she caught it quickly, determined not to betray herself. She busied herself instead with getting more warm oil for his back and then she worked his shoulder firmly.

"Just there?" she said simply, tremulously.

He groaned in appreciation.

"The warmth will help," she said softly. She watched him close his eyes and relent to her. She rubbed his back, smiling at the moans it elicited. He seemed to relax beneath her touch, as she had hoped he would. She followed with the hot stones, passing them over the aching spots on his back, and finally she lined them up along his spine. Reaching for the other warmed bottle, she smiled. She had been quite pleased that the apothecary in Hogsmeade had had the ingredients for this concoction. She swirled the dark liquid and placed it back on the tray. Once she had removed the stones from his back, she could rub this new oil into him thoroughly.

The smell of it came to him first, and as he was turning that over in his mind, the relief of the balm occurred to him. His eyes opened. There was a question on his face. The massage and the heat from the stones had helped, but he had felt the pain creep back in as the heat had waned. But this?

"What is it?" he asked, amazed.

"It has an analgesic in it. Just relax," she coo'd. "Get some sleep."

_Why was she telling him to sleep? And why, when he felt like crawling inside her and pleasing them both, did he find the state of his equipment to be completely unhelpful?_ As the realization dawned on him, he rolled over to confront her.

"What was in that?" he asked. He was 99 percent sure what she was going to tell him, but he wanted to hear her admit it.

"Comfrey, mullein, vervain, and ..." she paused then as he had known she would. "Glycyrrhiza root concentrate," she said finally.

"Glycyrrhiza root?" he accused with a snort. "And you KNOW what can happen when that is absorbed and enters a man's bloodstream?"

"I believe the technical term is 'erectile dysfunction.' I just thought you might prefer a good night's sleep to..."

"'The draught of the living death' as far as a MAN is concerned. Come here," he told her firmly.

"What are you going to do to me?" she asked, a little worried.

He growled, "Everything I CAN.... until this wears off, and then I will do what I currently CAN'T."

"That... well, that could be hours," she stammered.

He knelt on the bed now, taking the buttons of her blouse in hand. "Excellent," he purred with satisfaction as the first one yielded. "We will merely have to pace ourselves then. I don't want you turning to jelly before the final act."

And the sound that escaped her lips could have been confused with a kitten's whimper.

##

"This all feels rather sinful.... it being Christmas," she said the next morning as she considered their naked forms and the tangled sheets. "Normally, I would be getting up and going to the kitchen to find my parents already awake. They always let me sleep in when I am home from school," she explained. "Then we would open presents. Have breakfast. And a big meal later. Late in the afternoon. Either at our house or at my aunt's."

He grunted by way of acknowledging her conversation. But he was not deaf to what she had said. He would try to make it as close to a normal Christmas as he could manage for her.

When she emerged after her shower, she found him sorting ingredients in the kitchen and looking for likely roast pans. She smiled and headed for the bedroom to dress for a day of cooking and conversation.

She found what worked best was for her to avoid talking of her research into tactics and war and history. He thought it wise to make no mention of the friends she likely missed. There were long silences that were not too uneasy.

But there would be no snuggling or canoodling. She was all for it, those things being the staple of her previous fantasies of what a relationship entailed. But for Severus those things that were not directly sexual were a mine field he could not negotiate. He did touch her in a way which spoke of familiarity, to draw her attention to something or to request that she move out of his way in that small kitchen. But outside of the bedroom there was no flattery, no flirting.

She would have easily acted towards him in the kitchen as she did in the bedroom (with minor changes made for propriety), but he would not have allowed it. He made stark distinctions in how he behaved with the time and the place. Perhaps, he was old fashioned, she considered. Or perhaps, sex was just sex to him. Something he could too easily separate from the rest of their interactions, because he didn't _**feel**_ the things she did.

He looked up from his spot on the couch where he had been reading, and he caught her eyes on him. She was so obviously lost in thought. "The roast," he said. "Do you mean to check it? You have been standing there with the fork in your hand a good 10 minutes." And he put his head back down to begin reading again.

##

As he lay in her bed, he thought how tomorrow would be Boxing Day, the start of his third day with her. And he had to admit, things were perfect. Well, it was as close to perfect as Severus Snape could imagine. A woman who _**knew**_ who he was, was willing to fuck him. Free. And well. And she was as willing to walk in public with him or spend hours talking with him as anyone ever had been. Had there ever been a woman who would let him share her breakfast table, as well as her bed?

It was a drug, her desire for him. She wanted him in her so, so often. And he lived for that look in her eyes. For the way she bit at her lip as she weighed asking him to take her to bed. The woman was brazen. Driven. He didn't need to ask. Just bide his time. This was a new subject to her, one she loved to explore. That, and her hormones created a need for him over and over again.

It was free. It was plentiful. It was good. _It was better than good,_ he thought with a smug little smirk as he lay in her bed. Hell, even when they weren't having sex, they were content. And there was no reason he could not come and go as he wanted. He was happy, or a Snape facsimile, there of.

He watched from the bed as she tip toed back to him across the cold floor. She shivered as she worked her way under the covers. And she smiled as she pushed lightly up against him.

Amazing. And too unreal to have been foreseen, she decided when she thought about what it felt like to have him here. She shook her head and a little giggle escaped her as she registered the words he was whispering. Apparently, his pregnancy book was highly instructive on alternate sex positions helpful in the pregnant state.

At least that is what he had told her as he then spooned against her from behind. His desire was obvious, and she tried to turn to kiss him. He held her hip still, however, and whispered, "Just like this."

The newness of sex like that concerned her at first, but then it was easy, effortless. And so incredibly good. "I love the way I can touch you when we are like this," he hissed in her ear. She was gone now. Lost to the sensations his body and his words aroused in her.

It was like a leaving. She felt her body fade away. Sink into the mattress. And this other part of her was passive and floating, it was the part made of nerves and responses, color and lightness. She was fueled by him. Sweetly tended by him.

Her willingness to prolong the experience, to never chase a sense of completion made her self conscious suddenly. And left her feeling guilty. She opened her eyes and reached for him. "Shhh," he whispered as he saw her emotions play across her face.

There was so much he could teach her, he thought. She couldn't see yet that each time could be different. That there were times to hurry fiercely and possessively, demanding release. And times to forestall, to wait. To make it claim you. "No rush," she heard him say as he kept his rhythm. "Relax. Let it find you." And she let herself stop thinking again. Let her self stop worrying.

##

He stayed snugged around her then a long while, unwilling to move and lose the feeling he was awash in. Finally, he rolled onto his other side, and his back was to her. She wrapped herself around him, hugging him tightly for a bit, and then released him.

"I love you," she told him.

"Go to sleep," he replied as his muscles went tense. "Just sleep," he insisted then more gently.

He woke the next morning to find her hand across his chest. She was awake and she stretched and groaned happily. But he could not let himself be content. And he couldn't let her comment from the night before pass. He asked her, "How can you just decide to bind yourself to me? Why would you let sex and a few kisses convince you of something... of something that isn't real."

"You think this is just a mental calculation I have made?" she protested. "It's not. I know what I feel for you...."

"For me? I am old and unattractive. Hopeless and Damned."

"You are brilliant. Courageous. Beautiful. And amazing," she countered. "But right now, a bastard none the less."

"These hormones you complain about... they have caused delusions."

"Yeah, well welcome to the ride..." She righted herself with a sharp intake of breath, feeling a stitch in her side. She pushed up and once to her feet, she moved to the bathroom.

When she returned, he was already up and dressed. His face was a hard mask and she knew it was her declaration that had so quickly done it.

"You are leaving," she accused harshly.

"Yes," he said simply as he gathered his things.

"I NEVER knew what to expect when I finally had the chance to tell a man that I loved him. But THIS is not it."

He turned for the door and she met him there. She put her hand on it to keep him there a moment.

"I am not saying 'marry me,'" she told him quickly. "I am not saying we have a future together. I am not even expecting you to love me back. But... I wanted you to know, I love you. Does that make sense to you?"

"No," he told her firmly, finally turning his head to meet her eyes.

He looked at her like a creature which lacked understanding. And she wondered if he could really be angry with her for loving him?

"If I had known...." he said, moving his gaze back to the door.

"If you had known that I would fall in love with you, you wouldn't have slept with me?! Is that it?" she asked him. "Do you have any idea how completely screwed up that logic is? So it was alright to have sex with me as long as I didn't tell you I cared about you? You would prefer to sleep with someone who hates you?"

"It would have been what I am used to.... And better for all involved perhaps."

"Thank God," she said with fierce sarcasm. "You managed to avoid having sex with someone YOU might actually give a damn about."

"Don't," he said menacingly. "I have worked to protect you. Your safety..."

"I am talking about feelings people have OUTSIDE the realm of obligation!" she told him angrily. Seeing he would not disagree with her assessment, she opened the door for him. "Get out," she seethed.

He stormed out and she slammed the door behind him. A split second later something heavy banged against the door making the wood ring.

##

"Ah, Severus, back from your trip? Here to spend the break with the old folks?" Minerva asked in saccharine tones as Severus took up his usual chair in the Great Hall. "I am glad you are back," she said unconvincingly. "Something was delivered for you and it ended up in my office by mistake. I will be glad to get rid of it. Come collect it after dinner, will you?"

"Can you not have a house elf do that, Minerva?" he hissed furiously, hoping the Headmaster would not see that they were arguing.

"I would not endanger one, truly, Severus. It is a most noisome package. You will need to handle it yourself."

He sighed, sounding drained. Then told her, "Of course, Minerva," with a curt nod of capitulation.

With impatience he followed her to her office once dinner was done.

"Minerva? Where is the package?" he demanded once her door swung shut behind them.

"There is none. I lied to you," she said tiredly.

He groaned and rolled his eyes to make a show of his dissatisfaction, but Minerva McGonagall was not at all bothered or impressed by his bad humor.

"Why are you back, Severus? Looking so dismal and acting so peevish? And how is Hermione?" she asked, roughly.

"I do not want to startle you, Minerva," he said sarcastically. "But I have not handled events perfectly, perhaps," he told her.

"_**Perhaps?!**_ If Hermione looks anything like you do right now, I would say that PERHAPS you are underestimating how badly cocked up this is."

"I slept with her," he said in a slow, deliberate way meant to discomfit Minerva.

"Did you force yourself on her?" the old witch asked simply and unemotionally, knowing the answer.

"No! I put her off until she was out of the school... But,"

"You don't think it was perhaps unavoidable? She happily wormed her way into your bed out of a misguided sense of duty months ago. She was beside herself when you were called away. And I have never seen a more obvious display of romantic furor than when she confronted you in your classroom her last day here. That woman obviously fancies you. And pregnant women in their middle trimester and teenagers are both known for their ridiculous sex drives."

Once recovered from the light shock these words caused him, he scrutinized the witch in front of him, wondering at the depths to the secrets in her.

"Do not presume to know very much about me, Severus," Minerva mumbled quickly. "And I hate to say this, but perhaps the ... change in relationship was even advisable, under the circumstances? Voldemort would kill you both if he were to see in your minds that you two were not true lovers."

"Lovers?" he repeated with disdain. "Must people romanticize?"

"Are you going to tell me you're not here because of some lover's quarrel?" she said with a doubting eyebrow poised high. "Or are you so horrid in bed that she threw you out?"

He allowed himself a smile of satisfaction thinking on the screams of delight he could coax from Hermione. He gave Minerva a knowingly dismissive look before he told her, "She .... told me that she believes herself in love with me. I realized then that I had handled this poorly."

"Yes. I can see why you would find that unbearable! How absolutely horrid of the wretch to love you," Minerva spat with temper and impatience. "Is she unhappy about loving you?" Minerva then asked. "I mean, was she, _**before**_ you no doubt, made a scene and stormed out?" she then added sarcastically.

He glared at her, words failing him.

"Do you imagine," Minerva continued, "that heart break is the worst that will happen to her? It astounds me that with all the danger we all face it is _**heart break**_ that has you the most troubled. That the notion that someone _**loves**_ you is the biggest problem you have at the moment... in the middle of a war. And that a mention of her feelings is the one thing would cause you to retreat."

"Well, do not trouble yourself over me, please," he growled sardonically. "Minerva," he said with a nod, that announced he was taking his leave.

As he moved to step around her, her hand flew to his chest. With a curious and quick motion she was suddenly facing off with him. His eyes were startled now. This was a magic Minerva had hidden. The speed to her steps and the strength in her arm were not those of an ordinary 70 year old witch. Could he physically best her? Remove her arm from him? Probably. His magic was formidable. But would he fight this woman? There, she had him beat.

"Stop running, Severus. In fact, I SUGGEST, you sit so we can talk. I'll get you some tea," she said absurdly, as if she was not holding him prisoner in her office.

##


	20. Chapter 20

A/N:

I give my apologies to those who read these things. You will find that I am a great fan of words, but that I have yet to make friends with punctuation.

And to AmazonWariorPrincess and any others who risk detention just to follow this story, I ask you, "What would Minerva say? Hmmmm?" So, behave. :) Or else..... it's a date with Filch.

* * *

Hermione was as hurt as she'd ever been. To have Severus walk out on her, so soon after Ron and Harry had turned away from her, so soon after being uprooted from Hogwarts, was like having the air pulled from her chest.

And part of her didn't care if she got over it. That part just wanted to wallow in the pain. To shut down and forget. To curl up and barely be.

The store was closed. She couldn't stand the sight of her books and research. There was nothing to distract her, nothing to keep her mind from an endless examination of the wounds she felt. With effort, she finally roused herself into leaving the flat. But with every step, her voice was echoing in her head, fighting her own efforts. _"I don't want to go out. I just want to sit."_

She wandered the sidewalks, looking for something, anything. Hoping for a glimpse of Fred and George. Or a shop that was open. But there was nothing. She sank against the bricks of the building and looked at the somber sky. Somehow it was suddenly all too much: Severus, the pregnancy, the loss of her friends, the sight of empty shops making her feel so utterly alone. She dropped her head and cried. She cried fiercely until she choked on the sobs. Until the point where all a girl wants is to call out for her mother.

And her mother was God knows where.

_You can't afford to live your life crying, _her mother had told her once, _pretending the wrong man can make you happy. You can't cry a man into loving you or into doing the right things. So, at a certain point, you just stop._

And Hermione wondered at that. She wondered who it was and when. Who had made her mother cry.... long enough, desperately enough, often enough, that she would finally come to that conclusion.

She smiled then, as she sniffed back her tears and cleared her face. She thought of the relief her mother must have felt when she met up with her father. A sensible man. Quiet and reliable. So wonderfully smart and loyal. A good man.

It felt good to think on her parents. 'You can be so stubborn,' they always said to her. But they smiled when they said it. They shook their heads at her and told her just how mulish she was being. And on a day like today, some stubborness might just be what got her through.

So, she decided she would not cry. She was simply done. And she would stick to that.

Still, a part of her panicked, it fluttered in her chest. Clamored to be listened to. _Every minute alone, hurt and alone like this, feels like a day. I can't do this._

_You can and you will. Because you have to. There is no other way. So, put the hurt away, _ the stronger part of her insisted_. Just for now, pack it away. And do the things you can. You'll pick a date. Two months out. February. Then. I will think on it again, then. I will ask then, if I really love him. If he will ever come back. But **not** till then. Just two months._

And so much to do.

###

Severus turned and sat in one of the pair of chairs off to the side in Minerva's office. He would make his cooperation look unwilling, but in truth, he felt he might as well give voice to some of what was weighing on him . There was no one else, certainly, that he could talk to.

With a call of "Tea service – for two, please," seemingly directed at the ceiling, Minerva took her seat. The two professors regarded each other silently and a bit anxiously while a 'pop' brought a house elf and a china tea set. "Thank you," Minerva said, and they were alone again.

"I suppose you believe I should have foreseen this as a possibility," Severus began.

"Hermione is young, pregnant, and inexperienced. This idiocy has isolated her from everyone, but thrown her together with you. That she would develop feelings for you does not shock me." Minerva said.

She watched him for some reaction, but Severus did not agree or disagree. He seemed to shrug while considering the matter.

"So, what I am saying makes sense to you," Minerva asked, "or are you still surprised by her declaration?"

"She is hormonal. And lonely. She is nest building."

"So, you are _**not**_ surprised that she would fall in love with you?" Minerva asked, visibly confused by him.

"She is nest building, but she has got it wrong," he sneered. "It should not be me. Never. We never would have been together, like that, if not for the Headmaster."

"So, you would not be surprised if I told you she had fallen in love with someone else? Some dashing man, brilliant and brave, and gentle at heart. Someone with a keen intellect, like a Potion Master, perhaps?"

"No woman ...." he started and faltered.

He seemed to change before her eyes, losing the rigid posture and proud disposition of the professor, and taking on that slump and self doubt of the boy he had been.

"Do you think so lowly of yourself that you cannot consider her loving you?" she then asked, gently.

"If this is turning into Muggle Psychology, Minerva, I would rather go chat with Filch about our deplorable plumbing."

"She's not wrong to love you, Severus. There is much in you that any woman, albeit a courageous one who took the time to understand you, would admire," she said, as she handed him his cup.

He raised a doubting eyebrow.

"You have those alluring three Ts down pat, for one thing," she purred, as she brought her tea to her lips. "Women love that."

"Three Ts?" he muttered.

"Tall, Thin, and Tortured. There was an article on that in _Teen Witches_. It was what all the girls were talking about last spring. Not at all what I am looking for, but attributes many women like."

"I know _**exactly**_ what you like, Minerva," he told her, reminding her that he was wise to the arrangement she had with Moody.

"You need to see you have admirable qualities, is all I am saying. Hermione is not insane. She has just become aware of them and - partially because of her state - she feels something very strong for you. You have protected her, cared for her in your way, enjoyed time with her... bedded her. And there is much that the two of you share in the way of intellect. Curiosity. And need.

"You can try to make falling in love with me seem logical. But the reality remains, she _**never**_ would have talked herself into these feelings, if she wasn't pregnant and alone. If _**Albus**_ had not dreamt up this lunacy and pinned us together."

"Oh, really? And the only reason you have spent time with her is because of Albus and this plan? You want me to believe that?" Minerva asked him, curtly.

"We are together because of Albus. Nothing between us is real. She would wake up one day and see that. Exactly that. That she had thrown her life away. On a Death Eater. On an old, awkward, and emotionally-stunted misanthrope."

"Have you discussed any of this with her..." Minerva suggested gently.

"Why?! So that I might earn more pity?" he said with a snort. "She needs to stop being so blind to who I am."

"Severus, she's young. Not an idiot. She KNOWS you were a Death Eater. She KNOWS how old you are, and you have shown yourself quite awkward and emotionally stunted by walking out on her on Boxing Day. So, she is quite aware of who you are, and she still loves you."

He had no answer.

"You find her unattractive?" Minerva then asked with impatience. "The sex is a chore? Her conversation is boring?"

"Her failings are not the detriment they were," he admitted, making Minerva laugh.

"You are trying to say, you see her differently now?" she said, smiling. "That _**is**_ what happens when love is in the air," she teased.

"Peddle your philters and aphrodisiacs elsewhere, witch."

"Oh, I would not tie you two together under such false means. You will have to find each other willingly. Hermione is so young...." Minerva said trailing off.

"My parents married young. It was a horrid mistake, a waste of my mother's life."

"Sometimes it is a mistake to come together young. Sometimes it is the only means to store up happiness while you may," Minerva said, solemnly. But she could not be sure Severus even heard her. His mind had retreated into the past.

"Even at the bitter end, my mother could not see that she had thrown her life away on that man," Severus added.

"And any woman who loves you, Severus? Is that what you think? That by loving you, she would be throwing her life away?"

"No, of course not," he said, sarcastically. "With my happy-go-lucky personality, amusing demeanor, association with Dark Lords, and my classic looks? Why just consider my nose. I am worth any three men, there, alone."

"Good God, Severus, you have turned self loathing into an art form," Minerva said with exasperation.

"My father," he said, turning serious, "was a drunk. Hate and spite were all we got from him. One particular time, he came home, reeking and angry. Usually, he had nothing more for me than the back of his hand. But that night, he grabbed me by the shirt front and sat me down. 'It's all a trap,' he told me. 'Women do this. They will say they love you. They will get pregnant. And then they tell you, you can't leave them. That you are responsible. They aren't happy,' he said, 'until they have sucked the life out of you and made you feel worthless.' _**That**_ is the sum total of the fatherly advice I ever got from that man."

"Well, the man sounds like an ass, Severus, and I think it would be a good thing to forget that whole event. You can't tell me you give any credence to what he said. Are you such a misogynist as to think all women operate that way?"

"I can find fault with my parents' examples, but they will still color my perception, I find."

"You never got to be a young innocent, my boy. You have never had a good view of love, perhaps, of adult relationships. So, what do you make of Hermione's motives? Is this a trap? She is pregnant. She has told you she loves you. So, much of what your father warned you of. And the rest of it? Is that what set you to running? Did she ask you to be a father to the child? Did she tell you, you were stuck with her?

"No," he said, as if far away. "She said she just loved me. And she wanted me to know. She said she didn't expect anything of me."

"My God, that's almost worse," Minerva said, sadly. "As if she was telling you she _**knew**_ you were incapable of feeling anything for her. Oh, that girl has had to grow up too fast." And the old woman shook her head.

"It is THIS point in time and THIS ridiculous situation which have caused this."

"You sound a bit like Trelawny now, seeing the cause of this situation in the singular and unpredictable way that causations have aligned," she teased, lightly. "And I agree with you. But what of it? The unlikelyhood does not make everything less _**real**_. You and she are both changed. Irrevocably. Albus has stirred the pot enough that I don't think the past can claim much hold over your future or Hermione's, unless you are fool enough to let it," she warned. "_**This**_ time and _**this**_ situation and _**this**_ woman are different. So stop thinking it has to go the way of the past. You are not your father. And you are not that young man who was so filled with hurt and fury years ago. You are _**not**_ even the man you were a few months ago, Severus." She believed she had seen the faintest start of hope in him these last two months. But she would not tell him such a thing.

They were silent. She watched him, sadly. His eyes were closed behind his steepled fingers when a crackling sound drew his attention to the fireplace... _A Floo call_, Severus quickly surmised when the green glow began.

"Yes," Minerva called out toward the grate.

The reply was just a whistle of noise, a signal of some sort.

"10 minutes," Minerva yelled back.

Severus stood to end the discussion.

"She might find the feeling doesn't last. You are right," Minerva said as she pushed up from her chair. "You are her first love... whether you want to be or not.... and it may not prevail, especially untended."

He paused by the door and turned to ask her, "Will you tell me then? What do you recommend? You know you are dying to," he teased Minerva.

"What I have heard you tell me, is that you are as unready to be loved as you are to love anyone else. But that you do not mind being with her. You do not begrudge her the situation you find yourselves in. I would tell her that. And let her love you."

"And what about you?" Severus asked. "How different are you from me, when you will not acknowledge Moody? When you treat what you have as a trifle, and the man is completely devoted to you? "

"Fear, more so than love," she said, finally, "will be the ruin of us all, perhaps."

"Good night, Minerva," Severus said as he left.

"Good night," she told him with a tight smile.

##

Once the door was closed, she walked for her desk to settle herself in. She sat down and approved the clean, well-organized surface. She placed her watch on the desk top and noted the time.

8 minutes left.

She checked her reflection in the mirror and quickly darkened the shade to her cheeks. With a sigh, she pulled the homework folder to her and opened it. _The term's final essays, _she thought. Each one was long and filled with a student's frenzied writing. Once she had placed the top paper directly in front of her, her eyes flew of their own volition to the time.

6 minutes.

She groaned and picked up her quill to mark the first submission.

After a false start, and what she was sure was uncharacteristic mind-wandering, she applied herself again to the task. She did not look up then until the essay was read, helpful comments were added, and a grade was applied.

And then she saw... 1 minute.

Still 1 minute to go.

The fire glowed green at that moment as her guest arrived.

"You are early," she said, as Alastor Moody lumbered through.

"Forgive me." He bowed his head to her, formally. She smiled and placed her spectacles on the desk.

"Not at all a safe thing, this Floo connection," he said, as she walked to him.

"Let us close it then. For a while."

"Min?" he asked, thinking perhaps she meant they should see each other less.

"We will close it for a while, with you firmly stuck on this side. We have a few things we should talk about," she said, seriously.

"All right then," he said a mite gruffly, as he set his chin. As much as Moody hated having everything between them unspoken and undeclared, he dreaded a talk which might declare them finished, altogether.

"We cannot keep on this way, Alastor. Not being honest to each other. I didn't want a relationship. And neither of us needs the distraction. I have been afraid that if we were found out, it could somehow be used against you, to hurt you. That the other side would use me to try to get to you."

He studied her for a moment. What she said was certainly true. It was something that he had also considered. But for quite a while now, he had thought there was another problem. "Is that REALLY it, Min? Is that all of it?"

She met his gaze, prepared to deny the truth. But she couldn't.

"I cannot stand to lose someone again. The idea of that hurt..." she said, as she sank heavily into the chair Severus had just vacated. "And, perhaps, I have been fool enough to think that I can't lose what I pretend not to have," she admitted. "If I never acknowledged you as mine, then nothing could be taken from me."

"So, you have kept me at arm's length," he finished for her.

"Aye, but Severus has made me think about all these things. And what a coward I am. And how unfair I've been to you," she said softly, as if ashamed.

"Then let's see this settled, Min," he said as he took up the chair opposite hers. "For me, the hurt is in the not knowing. It is in thinking you do not see a future for us. It is in believing myself only worthy of your pity and the scraps of your time. You asked that it be with no commitment. You asked that we tell no one. And I understood. I thought I did. I tried to," he admitted. "I'll not fight you on this, if you mean to end it. I'll turn and go."

"No," she said. "Stay here, tonight. And tomorrow night," she told him, offering up more than they had ever had together at one stretch. "There will be breakfast in bed, dinner by the fire. And much to talk about, because I mean to put the worry and the thought of distraction to rest."

"How?" Alastor asked softly.

"By facing the reality. I care for you, Alastor. I let you into my heart a long time ago. But I've been too foolish and too fearful to admit it."

"You have never wanted anyone to know.... " he said, studying her closely. "Now, you say things are changed. But you want to prove that by locking me in your rooms for two days. If things are changed, and we are bold enough to grab life by the bollocks, why will you not _**act**_ as if they are changed?"

"Don't be so paranoid. Would you like me to take out an ad in the Daily Prophet to declare my intent?" Minerva offered.

"That seems excessive. But are you saying you will walk about these grounds, on my arm, tomorrow for all to see?"

"Oh, enough. DALIA!" she called out.

The small elf appeared nearly instantaneously. "You need somethings?"

"You will take a message to Professors Sprout, Flitwick, and Vector AND Madam Hooch....

"Not Snape?" Moody teased.

"Snape knows," she said. "Now quiet. So, Dalia, you will tell Professors Sprout, Flitwick, and Vector AND Madam Hooch that I am taking Alastor Moody to my bed for ... for the next 24 hours."

Dalia looked exceedingly unhappy about this prospect. And moaned slightly, setting her floppy ears to trembling.

"Minerva," Alastor scolded. "You are making a mockery of this."

"Fine, Dalia, Just tell Madam Hooch that I am romancing this gentleman with serious intent. We do not want to be disturbed, and I will trust she will take care of the rest."

"Yes, say, 'The mistress is romancing serious intent with Mister Alastor Moody, and no disturbed,' and tell Madam Hooch 'Take care of the rest.' Thank you, Mistress." And the small thing left.

"Now, they will have more to talk about when I do walk out on your arm tomorrow," Minerva declared.

"Yes, and it will be interesting to hear what Rolanda thought you meant by 'take care of the rest.' "


	21. Chapter 21

**Hide and Seek**

A/N: There is no way the likes of Barty Crouch Jr (no matter how Dr. Who-like he may have been) could best my Mad Eye. It just didn't happen. :)

Thank you, Selmak, patient, helpful sounding board par excellence. Thank you all for reading. It makes the effort so much easier.

And lastly, I hate trying to write flash backs and had never planned one for this story.... but as it is all yummy and mushy, I could not resist.

* * *

Minerva's mind wandered as she brushed her hair in front of the bathroom mirror. _How had all this come to pass?_ she began to ask herself. _How had that hulking bear in the next room snuck up on her? Become a fixture in her thoughts?_ She had been so careful not to let this happen.

Minerva didn't like to think too far back, the past could be a grim, unsavory place. But as she searched her memory, she decided that Alastor Moody was the best thing that had happened to her in decades.

Of course, when he had finally made headway with her, it had been the result of nearly a year's worth of quiet effort. It had been a ridiculously long time at that point, since Minerva had been to bed with a man. She had gradually and willingly forgotten what the fuss was all about.

**### ###**

She had always admired Alastor Moody. He was exactly the man everyone said he was. Quite plainly, he was the best Auror anyone could remember. He put on no airs. Yes, the man was gruff. But he was smart, he fought hard. He knew what was right and stuck to it.

And time spent with him felt easy. Right.

The two of them conferred often as senior members of the Order. Albus frequently called them together for discussions of strategy. And with increasing frequency, Minerva and Alastor would linger together for a bit of talk after Albus had dismissed them.

"Sit a spell," Alastor would say, as he nodded his head in the direction of the library at Grimmauld place.

And she would.

Once the door was closed, Alastor found she was not as stiff as starch. And he discovered she did like a good laugh.

He regaled her with stories and his dry, devious sense of humor. His tale of his first attempt at ridding his mother's cottage of boggarts left her breathless with laughter. She wiped her eyes and shook her head then. "Oh, Alastor," she sighed.

"I like that," he said, as if scrutinizing her. "It looks good on you."

"What?" she asked, self-consciously.

"Your smile."

She knew then the man was a flirt. And he seemed at least mildly interested. Over the weeks that passed, they spoke amiably with one another wherever and whenever they met. And if alone, he would lay a hand to her back as they stood together. Or kiss her cheek in farewell.

He would not eat out, but he brought her back to his place as often as she would come, to have a light meal together.

They carried on like that for months. The attention was enjoyable enough as far as Minerva was concerned, and Alastor did not press for more.

One hot, unpleasant summer night, a group was assembled at Grimmauld place. They were hoping for word from Tonks and Lupin, who were gathering information in Eastern Europe. Everyone was frustrated with the lack of news, and ill-tempered given the late hour and the lingering heat of the day. Fuses burned and shortened. And the Weasley twins' idea of how to lighten everyone's mood was not at all well received.

As the screaming started, Alastor deftly guided Minerva toward the library. Nearly everyone else cleared out for their rooms as Molly's tirade took off.

Once alone with Minerva, he warded the library door so that no one else could enter. But the shouts still reached them.

He dipped his chin to his chest, but his smile was still evident. Too evident for the Deputy Headmistress who was glaring at him from her spot on the couch.

"It's not at all funny, Alastor. It's not funny in the least."

"Oh," he tried to agree. "Too true. Not at all humorous."

His smile was twitching now from the strain of trying to show a dispassionate face.

"Those were Molly's new dish towels. And those boys may have made Mrs. Black's portrait pass out for now, but when she comes to, she'll be screaming loudly enough to put fear into Boudica."

"But you don't suppose anyone managed to get a photo of it? Mrs Black's portrait in a Weird Sisters T shirt?!"

Minerva pulled the couch pillow from behind her, and with punishing speed, she caused it to collide with Alastor's left shoulder. All of this from the daunting distance of 20 paces.

That was when he knew he had to kiss her.

"Professor McGonagall?" he queried as he extended his arm to Accio the pillow from the ground, wandlessley.

"Yes," she said, cautiously.

He moved slowly over to the couch without saying any more. Once he stood in front of her, he bowed and presented her with the pillow. "I believe you dropped this, madam."

He took up her hand then and kissed it. But now the cheeky smile was gone from his face. He sat down next to her and touched her chin.

"If I'm off to battle - to save those poor souls out there. The least a fair maiden like yourself could do, is kiss me."

"Stop playing around, Alastor Moody." But she noticed, he looked quite serious.

He leaned in and kissed her. It was not a tentative, first time kiss. There was nothing experimental or untested about it. Nor was it the ambivalent kiss of resigned lovers. This was a bold, joyful act. The kind that reminded you that you were alive and that you were damned happy about that fact, too.

In her shock, she squeezed that pillow, flattening its stuffing for all she was worth. And when shock turned to interest, she kissed that man back, putting her full effort into the living of life for the first time in much too long. As she registered her unsettled heart beat and the rhythm of his breaths on her neck, she became immune to the caterwauling in the house. But soon, it was obvious: Mrs. Black's portrait had regained consciousness.

"I think you are marvelous, truly. And if you tell me those boys' shenanigans are not amusing, then I believe you," Alastor told a stunned Minerva. "Now, if you will excuse me?"

And he stood and made for the door with set, determined steps. Soon she sat alone pondering what sort of man kissed you _**like that**_ and then just walked out.

Then the screaming stopped. And there was cheering. They were all cheering for Alastor, she realized with a smile. A few minutes later, Mad Eye walked back into the room. Standing near the closed door, he just smiled at her, leaning on his walking stick.

She crossed the room to him and told him, "Well, you seem to be the man of the hour."

"You, lass, are the woman of the year," he whispered.

She took his face in her hands and kissed him, making as clean and sure a break with the past as she could manage.

...

Each time Alastor managed to get her alone after that, he would hold her hand or touch her softly. There were secretive kisses, whispered adulation, and short embraces.

'I should go,' she said more often than not, or 'I'm not ready for this sort of thing.'

And then one night they'd been meeting with Albus in the Headmaster's office. All the news was bleak. The war was going badly. They were running out of answers and time. And no one at the Ministry could be made to believe the threat that Voldemort posed.

They left Albus' office together, heads bowed in thought. Once alone in the corridor, Alastor had taken her hand and pulled her gently to him. "We won't give up," he said. He reached up and traced his thumb over her lips making a tingle run through her, making her want to kiss him.

'It would be a mistake,' she was about to say.

"You are a dear, Alastor....but...." she finally managed.

"But?" he asked.

Something changed right then. The husky sound to his voice, the frustration of this war, the need for consolation, all made it impossible to face another long night alone.

"But, we shouldn't stand here in the hall. Come with me," she told him.

"Right now?" he asked surprised.

"Mmm hmmm."

"To your rooms?"

"Yes. Don't make me beg, Alastor."

"I will go with you then, if only to prevent you from falling victim to that unbecoming behavior," he said, with his hand over his heart in pledge.

Once they were inside her sitting room, she threw his coat over her sofa in her haste. She lit no lights, just walked to him through the angled moonlight that came from the window. The nervous pangs she had felt as they walked to her quarters fell away under the strength and warmth of his hands. It felt good to finally do something, to take a little of the small and bitter comfort the world offered.

She kissed him and he responded with the fire of a much younger man. "Will you stay?" she asked.

"I will," he whispered.

Before she could re-think the decision, she took his hand to lead him into her unlit bedroom. There, the fantasy of romance was slain by the reality of stubborn, unfamiliar clothing and out of practice hands. There was fumbling in the dark and the faint bumping of heads. Her suggestion of a little light was met by his soft, "Shhhhhh."

He wanted no light. The dawning of that simple truth stilled her hands and kisses.. In the dark with her, he need not be that scarred and damaged man, she realized. Everyone's confidence has a limit. Even seemingly-perfect surety can be driven to falter.

He had handed her his fears to hold. And she kissed him all the harder for it.

With patience, she let him work. His desire was to remove all of her clothes, but to reveal as little of himself as necessary.

His intent was not to hurry, but she wanted nothing more than to pull him with her to completion.

They managed it. There was no award for speed. There were no points given for style. But, the sex was unpredictably lovely, if too reverential, she thought. She hoped what she had allowed to happen would not prove to be a mistake. She strained to see anything of his expression, to know what he was thinking.

And then she did not so much see it, as feel it, in the shape of his face as she raised her hand to touch him. There was something in the quiet way he seemed to look at her despite the dark.

_Oh Lord_, she said to herself. _ Please tell me he hasn't fallen in love with me. _

_..._

She made him keep their relationship a secret. She limited their meetings to once or twice a month. And still, he did not complain.

Sometimes they did not end up in bed at all, but merely sat close together by the fire. She thought that he would mind. But he hadn't. She had actually hoped he would. She wished he had had that more practical attitude - that it was only the sex.

_Please_, she would think as the weeks turned into months, _don't let him be in love with me... not when I can't possibly love him back, as empty and used up as I am._

She could have ended it. But she didn't. His scowl had become something pleasing to her now. The width of his back, a comfortable place to lay her head and all her troubles. And when he made love to her? My God.

It was as undeniable as it was unexpected, that they had grown closer with the passing months. And the journey had changed him, she saw.

That first night together, he had needed to make love to her as a whole man. He had not acknowledged or even removed his uncomfortable prostheses.

But two months later, she heard him groan in the dark as he wrestled the leg off. He then let her pull off the cotton vest he wore and reveal his chest and back to her fingers, if not her eyes.

Still, for all the comfort between them, it was 4 months before she caught a glimpse of the stump of his leg. He had pulled swiftly at the blanket that morning when he realized she could see it.

"I know who you are, Alastor Moody. There is not a thing you need to hide from me," she told him firmly.

"It might not be you I'm hiding from," he had told her, all those weeks ago, as he turned into his pillow. And she knew that was true. Perhaps we hid, longest and best, from ourselves.

**### ###**_  
_

"Come to bed, Min," she finally heard him say. Her thoughts rejoined the present then. And she realized with a start that she had not managed to brush out her hair. Goodness knows how long she had stood there, replaying the events in their relationship and staring at the old woman in the mirror.

"One more minute," she told him, as she leaned out of the bathroom door. She smiled at him, amused by the way he was abusing her spare pillow as he sat on the edge of her bed. The man hated spending his nights here, she knew. He was a creature of habit, and it was his own place where he preferred to be. His own bed and pillows that he liked best.

But he was here without a complaint said out loud. And tonight, he'd let the lamps burn a little brighter. That difference was not lost on her.

Usually, Alastor made sure the room they shared was dark. He was not a proud man, but he did not let anyone see the extent to which he had been cut and maimed. And when she had tried to trace his scars with her finger tips in the past, he had always pulled away. But tonight there was the softest glow of light, because he knew he wanted to remember every bit. Tonight, he would not pull away.

And he wanted tonight to start now.

She was not so preoccupied that she didn't hear the man grumble and then push up from the bed. He leaned his walking stick against the wall outside and swung himself into the bathroom, grasping her around the waist as he appeared in the mirror over her shoulder.

He had removed his prosthetic eye and put on a comfortable eye patch, giving him a subdued, and less than vigilant, appearance. He had taken the time to smooth his hair out around the band, she noticed, fondly. And he had stripped down to a level he found comfortable. His shirt was half open and pulled loose from his trousers.

"Impatient," she teased, as he nuzzled her neck.

He murmured something which sounded like, "The damn mountain and Mohammed," before he turned her face to kiss her soundly.

Her brush clattered into the sink and she lurched back a step, off balance. And once he had a firm grip on her, and she had settled her hip against the sink's rim, he was pleased. "Better," he whispered. "I hate distractions."

She pulled back from him as much as she was able. "Distractions? Like having the woman you are with fall against the tile and knock herself unconscious?"

He did not appear to be paying attention to her joking reprimand. His one hand gripped her tightly and the other toyed with the ribbons at the neck of her nightgown.

"I'm only with you, Min," he whispered.

He stooped to kiss her breast through the fabric. Nipped at her gently. This type of teasing play never failed to arouse her, and the over gown imp of a man knew it. She could see it in the self satisfied smile he wore. And he smiled broader still when his hands wandered to her hip and coaxed a shuddering breath from her.

Still she could not take him too seriously. She petted at him, kissed him, but waited, waited for him to ask her to go to bed.

But he didn't.

That roving hand was soon under the hem of her nightgown. The look on his face now was completely earnest.

"Alastor?" she said.

"Minerva," he replied, his lips against her throat making her shiver.

_How is one bit of flesh so very different than the other?_ she wondered as he found her out. As _**he**_ seemed to groan the pleasure _**she**_ felt, she could not understand, _How is it, he feels this as keenly as I do? _

His hand, so perfect, that what he holds becomes all of her. He presses, rocks her sex and her moan escapes her with the same rhythm as the hand that gentles her further. It is a whine now, that signals her impenitent fall. She leans forward into him. Sinks harder into his hand. Relinquishing to him.

"Come to me," he says, when another man would tell her 'Come for me.'

"Please," she says, and she is fully someone else. More dependent and needy than the sainted vision of Minerva McGonagall. Desperate. And rather than insensible, she sees herself as quite the opposite, as nothing more than the sum of her overwrought senses and fears.

His lips on hers seem to soothe her some. And he waits, believes it will come. Her weight shifts and her legs open fully to him. The time is here, he knows. He settles her leg around him and sinks his fingers into her, as an act of mercy, as much as love.

And as her breaths come in a stutter, he listens and knows just what to do. Her hands grip his back fiercely as she trembles. She is not truly standing, but she does not fall. He cradles her ably, gently. "Minerva," he says over and over. Her name comes to her, gently buoyed on his breath. It sounds like a prayer, a whispered plea for grace.

"Yes, Love," she assures him.

"Minerva," he says, stronger now. It was a young man's voice, as glad and full as Evensong.

###

She lays next to him later and skims a hand down his chest, making him sigh. It's a distracted motion she continues, one that moves her thoughts along.

How could her life have become so distorted that it was easier to give her body to him so completely, than it was to give up being frightened of feeling, to be afraid of loving?

He had not been the only one hiding in the dark, she realized.

She rolled onto her side and he followed, wordlessly. His arm wrapped around her. His hand was open, flat and pressing lightly against her chest.

"I didn't want to tell you, girl, how much I love you. I thought I would drive you off."

"I've only just found my heart again. I'm so scared still. Do not rush me to tell you more. Just know that you are the man I want: at my side, at my table, and in my bed," she told him in an unsteady voice.

"My brave girl. Don't you worry. 'Set me as a seal upon thine heart,'" he quoted, pressing his hand more firmly against her. 'And as a seal upon thine arm. For love is as strong as death.'" And she felt his kiss upon her temple. He made to release her, but she held his arm firm around her.

"Don't let go," she whispered. "You are all that's holding me together right now."

* * *

Alastor quotes from the Song of Solomon.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Back. And still not JKR. Still not making any money. Yes, Severus and Hermione figure in this chapter. Do not fear!**

**I thank Selmak who has suffered a great deal in reading this chapter in various stages.**

**The first bit here is me having fun. I can't help it. Totally inappropriate, I know. But when I see Filius and Hooch in a room together, I lose it... especially when I purposely absent Dumbledore (aka the man who rains on parades.)**

* * *

Things looked to be in Madam Hooch's favor, she thought with a little added bounce in her step. Albus was nowhere to be found. She was grinning like a mad hatter as she near tumbled into her chair for breakfast. No Headmaster meant no one to stop the fun. Oh, usually the Deputy Headmistress would do **_that_**. But today the fun was all about her! Rolanda couldn't wait to relay the news Dalia had brought her the night before to all of her colleagues.

She should have been able to enjoy her appointed position as Sanctioned Court Gossip, but Rolanda found herself horribly thwarted. Poppy dropped her head and let out a stilted, "Ha! As if!" at the flying instructor's suggestion that Minerva had sequestered herself with Alastor Moody.

Rolanda was just beginning to interest Professors Flitwick and Sprout in the message she had received when Severus showed up. His sour countenance added to Poppy's, seemed to ruin all hopes for good, clean debauchery. Pomona was visibly disappointed. Flitwick leaned in close and assured the woman they would get all of the details once the "sullen sad sacks" left.

And as Hooch told them, they need not worry that Minerva would show up and object. So, they might as well talk about her. God knows, that straight and narrow woman hadn't given them a damn thing to enjoy gabbing about in the past decade.

But when Minerva was again missing at lunch, Flitwick began to question if Hooch had gotten the information wrong somehow. Poppy chimed in and insisted someone REALLY should go make sure she was all right. "After all," she huffed, "when is the last time anyone can remember Minerva McGonagall missing two meals in a row?"

Complete silence gripped the diners. Everyone searched their memories, frozen, bothered, and worried. Except Severus. He continued to eat, finished his meal, and then rose to his feet. He pushed in his chair and then seemed to snort as Pompona yelled out, "1981!" in a jubilant manner.

"That doesn't count," Filius told her. And then he (like so many people before him) fell prey to the spectacle that was Severus-departing-a-room and followed him with his eyes. "She was in Bulgaria. Of course she. Missed. Two. Meals. In. A. Row." The end of his sentence tripped out in a slow, confused staccato that kept time with Snape's retreating foot falls.

Hooch would have blown her whistle _**if **_Albus hadn't placed that damn ward against its usage in the Great Hall 10 years ago. This was JUST the time for it, too, she lamented. She managed a quick blast with her thumb and finger shoved in her mouth. Then, she recounted for the twentieth time how she had been told by Dalia the house elf that the pair were 'romancing serious intent.' "Minerva's fine," Rolanda protested. "Well, she's in her rooms.... with that Auror fellow and doing whatever it is they find remotely interesting together and...." She trailed off. For once Rolanda was at a loss for words and her brash confidence began to falter.

She stood, shunning a half-full plate. Then, with a visible shudder to banish the heebie jeebies the notion of "old people sex" caused her, she announced she was going for a little fly.

Minerva did, to everyone's relief, appear for dinner. She walked through the doorway of the Great Hall and _**knew**_ all eyes were on her – enhanced spectacles were completely unnecessary. Propriety was forgotten by some whose forks hovered in front of their gaping mouths.

It was hard to be sure with the weight of all those eyes on her, but she _believed_ she had just the right stride to her walk. One that spoke of joie de vive... rather than bow legged exhaustion. She knew she was walking _differently_, at least, and had to just hope for the best beyond that.

But it was ruined, all horribly ruined, when she saw Flitwick wink at her, and pointedly take the cushion from her chair in anticipation of her arrival. He then had the temerity to fluff the damn thing soundly and replace it, as if quite concerned for the comfort of her nethers.

"There would be none of this," she whispered to the slight man who held her chair, "if Albus was here."

"What is Albus when I hear there are Celtic conquerers _**slaying **_ the ladies in the castle?" Filius said quietly. And Minerva was on the receiving end of the Charms Master's eyebrow wag of legend. She sat, making sure not to seem at all physically discomforted.

"And the Mad Man of Derry," Filius said in a painful brogue. "Will he be needing any cushions? Fluids? Splinting?"

As everyone enjoyed the lightened mood that Filius and Minerva had supplied, Severus' empty chair caught the Deputy Head Mistress' eye.

"Poppy, did you scare off the boy?" Minerva asked, as the other professors talked amiably.

This was their standard subterfuge meant to learn if Severus had told Poppy of a summons before the Dark Lord.

"I haven't spoken to him directly, so I cannot be sure." And then the Matron whispered further, "But he is not in his quarters."

This last bit bothered Minerva, but she continued her meal with practiced calm. When they were finally able to walk from the Great Hall together, Minerva leaned in close and said, "Perhaps Severus simply does not answer your knocks."

"I took the liberty of introducing a noxious powder under the door which would have made him complain had he been there." Poppy told her friend.

"You have become quite a determined worrier in your age, dear," a shocked Minerva said with an eyebrow high.

"Do we wait for him then, Minerva... by the gate?"

"We don't know that he has been summoned. He has told neither of us. It could be that he is someplace else entirely. Safe and well. And perhaps even _**enjoying**_ himself," she said with a wicked smile.

Poppy was moved by the strangeness of Minerva's words to look at her old friend askance. "And I can only ask then, what has come over you," Poppy said, "and... well, if the rumors are true."

"Rumors?" Minerva asked, the picture of innocence.

"You know! Rolanda insists that you were not at breakfast OR lunch because you had Alastor Moody tied up in your rooms!"

Minerva laughed. Poppy blushed and heaved a relieved sigh.

"As if I would have to tie that man up," Minerva said with a chuckle. "He's sleeping like a baby in my bed right now, and I think he has no plans to leave." She smiled... pushed an escaping hair back, and added, "Even when his strength returns."

Minerva linked her arm through Poppy's and whispered, "Now that I really remember what the fuss is all about with men. You know, what it's like when you find that right one? I just _might_ tie him up if he tries to leave. Because I have no intention of letting him go. Not now."

"Good God, Minerva," was all Poppy managed.

"Yes," Minerva answered with a smile.

###

Hermione walked for the door of the flat, pulling at the new nightgown and wondering how inappropriate it must look for receiving visitors. She decided she really didn't care.

"What are you doing here?" she asked when she saw him in the hallway.

"We should talk," Severus said, as his eyes slid quickly from hers.

She stepped out of his way and noticed he seemed to have a nervousness to his walk. He went straight for the kitchen, oddly enough, and put on the kettle.

"You came here to make tea?" she sniped at him. Unconsciously, she crossed her arms in front of her. Still standing by the door, she was glaring at him, the makings of a confrontation forming in her mind.

"Please," he said. The word hung, heavy and unfamiliar, in the air between them. "Don't make this more difficult. We have half an hour before we are expected... before the Dark Lord."

She started to shake from the moment his words reached her. She wrapped her arms tighter about her torso to stop their trembling. Her eyes found the small couch in her apartment and with tunnel vision she stepped for it.

The water warm now, he quickly made the tea, emptying a small vial into it. "I can help you a bit, all right?" he asked, as he walked to her with her cup.

She didn't trust her voice, so she only nodded and stood to meet him.

"It's safe," he told her, as he passed the warm tea to her. "Perfectly safe."

"You've put something in it? A calming draught?" she asked.

"Yes," he lied.

She held the cup in two hands and cautiously drank the liquid down. "What do I need to know before I go? How will I hide anything from him?" she said, as levelly as she could.

"There is no way to hide anything from him. You will merely go before him, kneel, and let him take what he wants. It is the only way."

"I don't feel very well," she admitted, as she put the cup down with a thunk. "My head is swimming. I can't even think."

"It's the shock," he said. But he suspected that the potion he had given her was beginning to work. She (and anyone doing Legilimens on her) would find long term memories hard to access. But short term ones would be vivid. Her emotions would be heightened and would make the search of her mind difficult to steer. It would be an adequate defense against Voldemort _only_ if he attributed her state to her hysterical pregnant nature and the inherent inferiority of muggle-borns. Severus was betting he was likely to do just that. And it was Hermione's life and his own being bet tonight.... and the boy's, he thought with a look at the roundness that pushed out her nightgown.

Still, a weak smile pulled at his increasingly pale face. The irony was too much for him. Ordinarily, Hermione Granger would not allow such a negative attitude to be held about her, and here they were ... about to _promote_ it.

In the short time he had with her now, he could cue her memories. He would heighten whatever lurid passions he could that would distract the Dark Lord. He insinuated his arms around her quickly, and feeling like a traitor, he stroked her back the way he knew she liked.

"I should change back into my clothes," she told him.

"No. I love you like this," he said with an inward flinch. He hated the lies... hated lying to **_her_**. He was painfully sick of the business of fiction. His life and hers were being spun out like fabrications from an enchanted quill, and it made his temper twist inside him. The little that had existed between them would be lost tonight. The lies would kill it all.

But then he was supposed to be in this alone, he reminded himself. He should not mind this life spent in friendless penance.

He had had years to consider it. Truth. Trust. Without those things you could be surrounded by people, but you would find, invariably, you were alone. He had been a fool to believe things could be different with her.

She looked ridiculous in the nightgown with her hair wild. She would remember all of this, he knew, should they survive the night. Not just that he had demeaned her, dragging her half dressed and bare footed before the Dark Lord. But that he had lied to her, bent her to his will, to get it done. But like this, she looked harmless and young, he told himself. And every advantage that might safeguard her, he would take.

He listened to her breathing as he continued to rub her back. Gradually, he felt her relax into him. He was surprised given the bitter way they had parted the other night. He kissed her gently then with lingering kisses, not wanting to begin the play in earnest. He sensed the weakness in himself and forcefully banished it.

And once confident he had her trust - he betrayed it. His hands flew to her bottom and pulled her hips in against his roughly. His lips parted, emitting a low growl he didn't feel.

"Severus?!" she complained, as she straightened her arms to push him away. "You are crushing him."

"Come on." Suddenly, he sounded for all the world like a coaxing, drunken footballer. "We have the time. Let me put it to you." He touched her breast then with unbearable skill but none of his usual care. Still, her senses didn't object, and instead she gave up a small moan.

"Think about it, hmmm?" he said, as his hand worked to excite her according to his plan.

Lust was a powerful feeling. And under the effects of this drug, he knew, it was amplified. This encounter being so fresh and powerful, it would leap from her subconscious when she was touched by the Dark Lord, he was sure. And then their other trysts would trip to the fore, more than likely bidden by Voldemort's insatiable, twisted needs.

"Think about how amazing the sex is?" Severus purred. "How much you want it."

And she found that WAS all she could think about.

"You are so much better off without Weasley and Potter," he spat. "All you've ever needed was me. They walked out on you that night at the castle. Turned their backs on you."

"They did," she said, sounding angry. She could see the scene play out in her head. Hear Severus' voice, narrating her life.

"They don't care a bit for you. But me...."

"But you?" she echoed with a touch of confusion in her voice.

"I fuck you senseless," he groaned. "And you love it."

"God, yes," she said, whimpering shamelessly.

"I remember the night I got you pregnant. Right there in my rooms in the castle. Do you remember? And then the next morning .... in the shower."

"Oh my God, the shower, Severus. You felt so good," she said, her mind not objecting at all to the way he was rewriting history and corrupting her emotions. And the dichotomy of the drug's effect on her meant she could no more help her brash words, than the prim girl in her could avoid feeling embarrassment warm her cheeks.

"Let me see you now," he said. And he pulled coarsely at her nightgown.

"Wait, you said we had to go." But he didn't stop, he tugged at the buttons until the placket was half opened. "Stop it. You are being too rough!"

She tried to back away from him then, but he did not release her. She pushed at him and finally slapped him harshly across the jaw.

He was trying to prepare her to meet the Dark Lord, yes. And all of this was part of a necessary play ... but, some mutinous part of him had pushed her ...

Had pushed her, wanting her to strike back.

An odd sense of relief finally settled on him like a late and shaky fix. She had done it. She had retaliated, rebelled against him. It made him briefly exultant.

He had DESERVED that stinging shot across the face – for tonight and for a great many things. But, God, how he had NEEDED it, too. For himself and for her.

It incensed him that he had failed to get her free of this plot. It was guilt, he realized, that was tearing at him. Self-reproach, an emotion he had thought himself immune to after all these years, settled on him, weighing him down. And he remembered now how desperately he loathed that feeling.

It was irrational, he of all people knew that, but he wanted her to hate him. He wanted to feel the satisfaction of the punishment he needed. The pain in his jaw was fading all too fast. Nothing could compensate _**long enough**_ for the blackness he saw on himself. Not when he had to stand in her light.

_Damn her! came his demon's seething answer_._ Damn her for being young and good and uncomplaining. Damn her for taking on all of this. For taking on me._

And as his temper feasted on his practiced rants, he was pleased to give it voice.

"What is it that drives a fussy little saint to throw herself at someone like me?" The frustration he felt bubbled up in his throat making his words harsh and angry.

"You're right, we need to go. But before we do," he hissed, as he held her one arm firmly. "I want to hear you _**admit **_you don't love me. Say it!" he demanded, "It was just some fantasy. It was just what you guilt-ridden virgins think you are supposed to say when you realize what you've let happen. When you realized how disgustingly eager you were for me all those nights. Hmmm? _**That **_was when you talked yourself into the lie..."

Before his breath even finished his last word, her hand was connecting with his jaw again.

"You are mad at me. But you love me?" he tried to scoff, but his words suddenly lacked the strength he had hoped for. He stepped away from her, shrinking a bit as he did. He was so sickened by himself- and on so many, many levels - that he swore his words had left bile in his throat. Instinct flared in him; he wanted to run. Suddenly, he wished he was anyone but himself.

For a split second he wondered, had he accidently come under the influence of the drug? Could he have made such a ridiculous error and perhaps spilled some, letting it seep into his skin? He looked at the backs of his hands and then dragged one slowly across his mouth. _Had potion come through their kisses to affect his thinking? _

But he knew it wasn't the drug. It was her. Something had assuredly seeped through his skin. And he regretted it, like he had never regretted anything before.

"Do not play me like this," she warned him. Her gaze was suddenly clear and unwavering. But she stood no chance against the heavy dose he had given her. She closed her eyes tightly and squeezed her head. But she couldn't stop the rush of images in her brain.

She seemed to weave a bit and he stepped in to soothe her. "Hermione. There's no reason to be angry," he lied again. Completing his betrayal.

He held her softly and kissed her temple. _Judas. _his mind supplied.

She lifted her head from his chest and met his eyes with determination. "I love you," she insisted. She tightened her grasp on him then and refused to give into the confusion from the drug. "In case you do not get how love works, you great bastard, you can't just piss this away. I won't let you."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, as he closed his eyes almost painfully. He cradled her gently and she melted into him. After a moment's awkward hesitation, he pulled her backward to Apparate.

##


	23. Chapter 23

A/N: Sel was a great help. I bow deeply.

* * *

_**"There is no way to hide anything from him. You will merely go before him, kneel, and let him take what he wants. It is the only way."**_

##

Do nothing, Severus had basically told her. After years of planning, acting, thinking, her best chances of survival were inaction, a lack of thought, no resistance? If she trusted this man, there was nothing, literally nothing, left to do.

And so she focused on the only things important to her. "Severus," her brain echoed over and over when it wasn't sadly intoning, "Dear God, not the baby."

She spared no thought for where they had Apparated to. She merely clung to him, even picturing him behind her closed eyes.

**

The room was cleared for them by prior arrangement, he saw as they arrived. There was no one there but Bella and two cloaked and masked sergeants-at-arms. Voldemort swept into the room from the far end at precisely the moment they arrived, as if demonstrating a sense of omniscience.

"Kneel," Severus hissed, as he stopped their travels across the room suddenly. He lowered her to her knees quickly and with little care. Barefoot and in the open nightgown, she felt horribly exposed and defenseless.

"You look afraid, Hermione," he suggested firmly, and it was no act then when she whined and dropped her head.

Severus stepped away from her as the Dark Lord approached. She shivered uncontrollably and her breath heaved despite her struggle to control it.

"What does she know about Potter and why he left school....?" the pale, serpent of a man mused as he hovered near her.

She visibly winced as he walked in a circle to torment her. He delighted in her show of fear and weakness. Severus had known he would. His appetite for these things could frequently feed as well as blind him.

"Muggle Borns have such little stamina and her condition has only made it worse," he announced dismissively once he had surveyed her. Bella sighed dramatically and made little "tsk, tsk" noises, before laughing quickly.

Voldemort's wand was to Hermione's throat in a sudden move designed to frighten her further. His disgust for her moved him to slice at her with a quick flourish. There was a stifled yelped of pain, but she did not raise a hand to cover the point on her jaw, Severus noticed with feigned calm.

"Argh!" the Dark Lord groaned in exasperation. He lay a hand to his head as the emotional scene from her last night in the castle played out in his mind. "All she cares about is that her friends don't _**love**_ her, Severus," Voldemort reported in a mocking voice. "They walked out on her! They do not trust her. Ah, but she trusts you, And oh, how she wants you, Severus! And how you make her beg for it."

Hermione cried out. It felt as if he was ripping through her brain as he searched for the times Severus had disappointed her, withheld from her. The visions spun from her at dizzying speed.

Her on her toes begging to be kissed and the ache as he left her standing there. The tears their conversations often provoked, the empty lost feeling she felt staring up at the professors during meal times, and the cold impassive man who seemed to look right through her.

Voldemort coughed out a rough laugh at the image of the "T" Severus had given her essay and the fury on her face. He took two steps back in a show of excessive amusement at her and changed the connection between them with a simultaneous swish of his wand.

The beast of a man groaned and his mouth twitched into a smile as he conjured the memory of Severus' hands on her savagely. Watching her relent to his kisses only moments after she had slapped him. "You like what he does to you, Mudblood?"

"Yes," she groaned, her eyes closed against the vision of him.

He saw the red mark on her arm, "Is he rough with you, cow?" he taunted.

"Yes," was her easy answer.

"And do you even care?" he sneered.

"No," she said, honestly.

"And what do you report back to the Order? Hmmm, have they set you as a spy?" And with his spell, he twisted his wand, like a cork screw meant to snare her memories.

But all he found were scenes of being alone, feeling desolate there in the flat, juxtaposed against images of being bedded by Snape. Voldmort pressed further, grunting as he did, looking for anything of Potter and the Order.

"Nothing!" he announced. "Even the Order has decided you are useless?"

The dark wizard's face contorted in disgust as he turned from her. "Every memory is tears or desire over you," he spat toward Severus. "I believe you have Confunded her...." Severus' heart skipped a beat at those words, but the dark wizard's mouth twitched in lewd humor, not in suspicion.

"Did you know you are a _**worthy**_ man...." The Dark Lord asked with pained distaste. He reared back and laughed then. "I believe this is... devotion, Severus, the pregnant female variety," he added. "You have done well for yourself.... and for me, it seems. She is no help to Potter. Some 'Golden Trio.' They are no cause for worry. Potter is likely off pissing himself without her help. And I can see she has been of no use to the Order since you ensnared her. You isolated her from all of them. And that is how we will do it. Granger, Dumbledore, Potter, McGonagall, one after the other they will all fall."

And as his wand finally passed away from Hermione, she seemed oddly suspended for a moment before collapsing. "Worthless," the Dark Lord hissed as she fell.

Severus hated how easy it was to remain still, to not even look directly at her as she lay there on the marble floor.

"Severus," the Dark Lord finally called, "still, she pleases you?"

"Yes, my Lord," he said, bowing his head, showing no urgency.

"And the child?"

"A boy. We will build a strong new generation, My Lord. You have not only stolen Dumbledore's present, but his future," Severus said. He had cautiously chosen his words to try to safeguard the lives of Hermione and the boy without seeming too attached to them himself. He could only pray it would resonate with Voldemort.

Snape's way of thinking seemed to please Voldemort, and he curled a lip in a smile and nodded. "There is much to plan. We will speak of it when you are unencumbered. Take her and go."

###

He got her back to her flat and lay her gently on the couch. Guilt and worry drove him, he could not stay still. He was awash in adrenaline, drowning in it. Keeping his eyes on her, he paced the floor, soothing himself with the tapping rhythm of his boots on the planks.

She was insensible, but not quite unconscious. On a whim, he sank quietly to his knees to take that chance to be close to her, to touch her, and to make his peace with her before she fully woke and her wrath was unleashed on him.

He reached out an unsteady hand and gently ran it over her belly, that most fragile part of her, round and undeniably fuller now.

Her eyes were still closed as she groaned lightly. She moved to cover his hand where it lay. "Are you looking for him?"

He thought these the strangest "first words" a waking person might say. Her hand held his now. Would not let it go. She guided his fingers over her stomach as if searching for the child hidden in there, although her eyes were still shut.

His shock was in abeyance now as he watched their hands move together and focused on the feeling beneath his finger tips.

"I thought I felt him move the other day. After you left. But I think it was my imagination... because I was upset." He watched as the expression on her face changed then, as she seemed to be rapidly sorting everything in her brain. She opened her eyes suddenly and a look of confusion replaced her conversation. She struggled to sit up, and although he believed it a bad idea, he aided her.

He still knelt in front of her, watching as she moved her hands over her face. Shaky hands worked her hair out of her eyes, trying to make her vision focus.

"My God, we are really here. You got us out," she said with disbelief and rising excitement. She looked around her unimpressive flat, beginning to beam, as if immeasurably pleased to be in so simple a place.

"How do you feel?" he asked cautiously.

"I'm fine," she said out of reflex. "If you need to go... " she continued in a quick and unconvincing voice. The sadness and the hurt creeping in.

"No. I should stay. It was not a calming draught...." he admitted. He removed his hand from her stomach then and rocked back to sit on his heels. He steeled himself for her anger.

"Yes, I figured that out, Severus," she said with an accusing, but amused look. "Will my brain straighten out eventually, because I feel completely muddled."

"You'll be all right by tomorrow morning."

"And the baby?"

"No danger to him," Severus assured her quickly. "I checked and rechecked the ingredients. Nothing worse than a Potions Category B."

"Not ideal," she murmured.

"No. I didn't see any other option."

They sat in silence. She felt better a few minutes later, but he would not let go of her. Slowly, he lay his head in her lap and breathed mournfully.

She didn't know what to do, but knew there was nothing to say. She put away her surprise at what this man was capable of.

"Do you need absolution, Severus?" she asked finally in a low voice.

_Yes._ he thought. _For a great many things._

"I believe we all deserve it," she told him then "And I forgive you, if that is what you are looking for."

He had lifted his head a bit and his eyes, she noted were on the welt that was darkening to a bruise on her bicep. "Can you heal it, a bit?" she asked.

"It's bothering you?"

"No. It's bothering _**you**_." And she pulled his chin, so he looked at her face instead of the mark on her arm.

He was wary and bewildered, but he did not turn away.

"We are alive, Severus. My God, that is just amazing. And _**you**_ did that. Isn't that enough?"

She was tired, but starting to rally now. Her smile was broad and impossibly growing.

"I love you," she said, happily. "I know you are sick of hearing me say that, and I don't even care right now. The baby is alright. And you are all right," she said running her hands over him as if to confirm this. "And I'm well, delirious. And .... God, I'm sorry I hit you," she said suddenly remembering the slap across his face "You made me so angry. And that drug made everything so incredibly intense. I was just enraged with you..."

He scoffed. "YOU are apologizing to me? I came here to drag you before the Dark Lord! To drug you. To deceive you. Rip your clothing, manhandle and bruise you. Shout at you......"

"And any other time it would have been the last thing you or any man ever did. But I am just so thrilled to be here... now and alive with you." The words tripped off her tongue with near giddy enthusiasm. "We are going to get through all of this. I am starting to believe that, Severus. This is part of the tide turning. This is the first time I have felt as if the Order was _**acting**_ instead of reacting. Something is going the way we intend it to. ...

But I never want to do that again. I was panicked, " she said talking quickly and excitedly. "So, helpless feeling. But you? You were brilliant," she said and kissed him. "You ARE brilliant. You had a plan. You had that potion ready. I would jump up and down and just.... cheer, but.... I am exhausted."

"You are unwell," he told her, as he stared at her. "But you didn't panic," he said bestowing rare praise. "He took from you only memories that did us no harm. You did not resist him which was wise, very wise."

He could not stop the desire to touch the softness and warmth in her cheeks. He moved so he was sitting with her on the couch.

"I was scared," she whispered, as she closed her eyes to his touch. "At first I only thought about how much I love you. And I was afraid for the baby. It was odd, to have a little epiphany like that, but that worry I felt made me realize I love the baby, too," she said as if handing him a marvel.

"You were perfect," he whispered.

She saw a look of new discovery on his face. Perhaps he might begin to register the difference it made to be forgiven. Or what it meant to share the hardships and triumphs in life rather than endure them alone. The world began to shrink down to that space between them. And his face did change. Soften. Lighten.

In her there was triumph and joy.... and she was too tired to run and jump. But inside? she felt all of it. In his face was subtle wonder at what he saw in her.

She relaxed into the quiet of it, that rest that comes after, the way climbers tip their heads back to the sun when they reach the summit. She sighed, leaned into him.

"Tonight was very difficult ..." he confessed in a hoarse whisper. And the grip he had on her said more than his words could. "It could have gone very badly."

She knew he didn't love her. Or didn't know how to love, perhaps. But she mattered to him, she thought with a satisfaction that settled like a blanket on her.

She wanted him to say more, but bit her tongue. Did not push him. She could see the emotion tripping him up the way no other foe ever could.

She smiled up at him and held on. Their time together played back to her. He might not love her. But he was not the cold man he had been months ago.

_She had been only a burden to him at first. Certainly it was not like that now. But all the sex and sense of attraction didn't mean the man would ever be moved to feel something profound for her. For a bothersome, talkative woman._

_He took good care of her. But even after she had fallen in love with him, she had not dared to think that he would love her back. Because she was logical, nearly pathologically so. She had even codified three reasons why it was unlikely he would return her love. _

_1. In the cosmic history of "bad timing," their shared era was an all time record breaker._

_2. Love need not be reciprocal. He was older, experienced. To be honest, emotionally rather broken. _

_3. She was no prize. There was no reason a man capable of love had to fall for HER. She thought it probable and believed it would be exceedingly nice, that there was someone out there for her, but she knew who she was. She was bright and came off as obnoxious and unforgiving about it. She was opinionated. Bossy. And she did not have the looks or the bank account that were going to make any of that seem to go away. _

"It's just here and now," she said out loud. She was telling herself and she was telling him. Trying to make all the ridiculous stray thoughts go away and focus on how good the relief of being safe in her flat felt.

"Kiss me," she demanded, followed by a more conciliatory, unsure, "please." He kissed her, but she wondered how to reach him. How to explain what she was feeling. "Can't you be happy? Just _**happy.**_ That we aren't dead," she kidded. And suddenly she was laughing uncontrollably over that thought.

"I have underestimated your sang-froid," he said flatly.

"You think that's why I am laughing?" she said, as she shook her head and got control of herself. "I'm laughing because my nerves are shot, Severus."

"Your formidable, singleminded nature?"

"Gone for the night," she replied, proudly.

"Your righteous anger?"

"What are you talking about?" she asked, sensing he was leading to something else.

"I was never worried about you punishing me should we survive, I'd have let you do it. And I had expected you would be angry with me. I know what you are capable of. Remember, I am the man you set fire to."

"Well, technically, I set fire to your robes," she said grinning.

"And I am the man you blasted across the shrieking shack," Severus said levelly.

"You really cannot take that personally, but I can see where that could make you think I might not be very forgiving about what you did tonight.

"And _**you**_ should not take it personally that I did not fear retribution from you, although you are a formidable witch. Retribution wouldn't have bothered me. Your striking me did not offend me. My burden was guilt." He seemed prickly suddenly. Hermione noticed the odd movements of his hands and the uncomfortable way he held his head. "I don't like lying to you. I betrayed your trust. And in such a dangerous situation. One that could have been your last."

"I can understand somewhat. There was Neville, first year. He wanted to stop us from going after the Philosopher's Stone. And we couldn't let him get involved. There was no time to deal with it nicely."

"And how did it feel?"

"Awful but I had to do it. So, I understand, Severus.

"You left him safe in his common room, Hermione. Knowing you, you probably apologized before, during and after. Placed a pillow under his head. You did not betray him or lead him defenseless in front of our world's most ruthless wizard."

"You did what you had to do. And it worked, because I trust you. It was not something we could have discussed before hand."

"I try to be an honorable man. You, especially, deserve that treatment from me as someone within the Order. I didn't fear your retribution, Hermione. I was afraid I would never see it. Drugged and trussed up and delivered for the slaughter? Instead of a victory, I could have ended up with your blood on my hands. It was a ridiculous risk. You were made into a tool, a pawn. Tonight and many months ago," he spat.

"I am here and alive, Severus," she said too happily. "I have no quarrels with the outcome. You stay an honorable man in my book. I forgive you. Forgive yourself!" she said enthusiastically, as if issuing an invitation.

"It was the most dangerous night of your life, and I left you no choice in how to face it. If you had ended up dead, do you think anyone would be assuring me I had done nothing wrong?"

"We are not going to fight about this because we are together in this madness. A couple."

"You keep regurgitating that same sentiment," he complained, weakly.

"I keep thinking you might begin to believe me." But she wasn't angry with him. She smiled overly sweetly and worked to distract him with kisses. "Alive, Severus. Fantastic, isn't it?"

She was trying so hard to help him let himself off the hook, he could see. And there was something so beautiful and alluring about the way any cares were gone from her face.

After a mere minute of her labors, he relented. He began to relax. He gave himself over to her and to her happiness. It was not the price of retribution he had expected.

"You are too forgiving, such an innocent." His words were soft and teasing now.

"I'm not, you know." It was a ridiculous, hollow protest and he laughed at her lightly.

"Innocent. Impulsive," he accused, gently. "Believing there is a strict right and wrong. So annoyingly tireless about it."

"I'm tired now, if that makes you feel better," she told him.

"Good."

She crawled into his lap and they worked their hands over each other. To touch and own. To be assured that this was real, that they had made it through their nightmare. She snugged in tight enough that her belly rubbed against him. And he did not feel it was a stranger there between them. It was one of them tonight. A co-conspirator who had shared their danger and made it through.

He laid a hand to the side of her stomach and the memory of how he had roughly pulled her in against him earlier pricked at him. She had protested that the baby was being crushed. The child had been safe enough, of course, but the sound of her voice and the feeling it had driven through him, made him feel like some sort of animal.

"I'm sorry," he said now, with hurt in his voice. And she understood.

"I know. I know," she murmured in between her kisses. Her eyes fluttered closed as her head rested on his shoulder. Only for a moment, she thought, but then she nodded off.

"You need to get washed up and then go to bed," he whispered.

"You'll stay? And shower and wash and sleep?" came her nonsensical response.

"I can see I'll need to," he said, "You are beyond thinking." But there is no way he would have left her then. Not when there was so much to make right.

Carefully, he would pull the ripped night gown over her head and discard it. He would tend her every mark. He would walk with her silently into the shower and there would be a sense of healing. That Voldemort's touch and insanity could be washed from her and the child. That the guilt and fear could and would be cleaned from him. That his touch could ease her pain. And her fingers could ease his mind.

He watched as she found one of his shirts in her closet, and without preamble, pulled it on. She sighed tiredly and crawled into bed, managing only half the buttons before she lay down. He snugged in behind her and let exhaustion take him.

##

It was a banging at the door that woke them. Hermione groaned and then swore. "Oh God, I was supposed to have opened the store this morning. That is going to be Mr. Gandymeade," she said dismally as she tried to crawl out of bed. Without addressing her at all, Severus prevented her from getting up. Raking a hand across his hair, he strode for the door, not caring or perhaps enjoying that he was only half dressed.

What he did was just wrong, Hermione felt, so why was she smiling into her blanket? She peeked from her spot in the bed getting only a framed slice of the pair. In a gruff and dismissive voice, Severus let the older man know Hermione would not be working today. By the time he finished, it was Gandymeade who was apologizing.

Severus had been overly-protective and proprietary about her, and horribly, horribly sexist. And she gleefully allowed it. She grinned into her coverlet, proud to be his... whatever it was she was to him.

They had no plans. They only knew that they were leaving to spend the day together. They stepped out into the alleyway and Severus' senses immediately tensed. Hermione heard the feminine shriek of discovery and delight. She turned and saw Rita Skeeter pulling a photographer by the arm. Manhandling the Wizard and badgering him into taking a shot of the pair all at once and from a dozen different angles. But they had both drawn their wands, and he and Hermione were already hidden and gone before the faint puff of the flash hit the alley.

Hermione did not catch the spell Severus used, but it concealed them, she supposed. She fired off her own spell while knowing instinctively to step to Severus, to allow him to Apparate them away. _See_, she wanted to whisper. _A couple. I tell you. The pair of us can handle a scrap with Skeeter as if we are dancing. We are _**that **_good together. Even out of bed._

She stared up at the structure of glass and iron they were now beside. "The Great Conservatory it is called. This is Syon Park outside London," he explained in a low voice. The visitors were few this time of year, and he was able to get them in a side entrance easily without being noticed. They sat on a bench off the main pathway.

She passed her hand over his cheek once they were seated. "A glamour, Severus?" she asked impishly.

"A combination of spells. Something nearly instinctual at this point," he said, sounding more defensive and muddled than Professor Snape ever did.

"Who is it?" she asked, but she thought she recognized who he must be.

"It is me. Minus 20 years." She ran a finger over the bridge of his nose "and minus a large amount of nose, yes." he said, a bit peevishly.

"Your jaw seems thinner."

"Are we to dissect my younger imagined persona. Look at the garden? Or should I take you home and feed you to Rita Skeeter?" he asked in a teasing voice.

"I would recognize that angry eye brow anywhere," she teased back. And then she just smiled at him and studied his face.

"You prefer it." he said matter of factly, with amusement rather than worry.

"No, I like it. The way I like looking through a photo album. Are you going to change back?"

He ignored her question, "And what spell did you use, Miss Granger? Dumbledore's Army fires on unarmed civilians now?" he teased.

"It's a horrible spell, but one I can't get out of my mind sometimes, like a bad song. It involves weasels. Well, the sensation of weasels.... "

"Gryffndors," he mock complained. "Combat by Weasel Trouser Sensation Hex? The war is won!"

And they sat and seemed to all the world, or at least to the handful of visitors there at the gardens, like relaxed, young lovers. But she would not kiss that young Severus. It was somehow too disloyal. It wasn't him.

"What are you thinking?" she finally asked.

"I am wondering if I will have a job when I return to school. What will Skeeter print? What will Albus want to do about it. What will the Board push him to do?" but he shrugged as he said it. It did not weigh too heavily on him as he had known it would come; it had to come at some point. And for all he knew Albus may have been the one to set this in motion.

"So," he then said, "have you stared at these plants long enough? I believe we should do some quick shopping.""

"Shopping?"

"You need another nightgown."

And he bought her a new nightgown or rather he found a civilized shop where men were given a comfortable, quiet spot to sit while their women made selections. That evening she did have a lovely pale blue night gown to wear to bed, one that covered the bruise on her arm. One which had those nursing plackets he professed to finding frightening. A billowing one with room for the bump he would take to calling "Your Collaborator" or "This Strange Tyro."

But on many, many nights she would find, especially if he was not with her, only his shirt felt right.

* * *

A/N: He saw the red mark on her arm, "Is he rough with you, cow?" he taunted.

"Yes," was her easy answer.

"And do you even care? he sneered.

"No," she said, honestly. I feel I must explain... OBVIOUSLY getting roughed up was a bad thing.... but she trusts him and KNOWS he is working some angle to save her life.. So, she HONESTLY doesn't mind. Because it beats being dead. Just didn't want people thinking I condoned Hermione bashing.

This chapter was going to be a bit more introspective.... but damn that man need to get a little happy going.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N**: Sorry to have been gone so long. Hopefully someone out there will read this.... hello? hello?!

Severus and Hermione will be along shortly. They just did not want to compete....

Thank you, Sel.

* * *

_Minerva linked her arm through Poppy's and whispered, "Now that I really remember what the fuss is all about with men. You know, what it's like when you find that right one? I just might tie him up if he tries to leave. Because I have no intention of letting him go. Not now."_

"_Good God, Minerva," was all Poppy managed._

"_Yes," Minerva answered with a smile._

* * *

"You deserve this happiness, Minerva," Poppy said as they parted. And suddenly Minerva's walk back to her rooms got much longer. Poppy's comment made her realize things were already past the point where most of her relationships developed a very cursory feel, where she would glean what happiness she could from them before they ended. Because they _all_ ended, brought down by the past.

But Alastor was different, she had let him in so close already. He looked through her it seemed, as if he knew too much.

He deserved to know just why she was the skittish, prickly witch she was, even if it meant he would leave her. How could she tell him about mistakes she had made when she was young, mistakes she still carried?

How could she confess how easily she'd been played by one of Gellert's spies all those years ago? And how she had been responsible for that man's death? Could she even manage to talk about the soldier she had fallen in love with?

She must have been a sight as she stood there in front of Alastor. The smile slid from his face as he rested on her bed. She could feel the weight of what she needed to say to him etching the lines in her face impossibly deeper. But she was determined to free herself of this burden. Alastor had a right to know what kind of woman he had attached himself to. She never should have let it get this far, she thought with a shake of her head.

"You are worried. Why, Min?" he asked, as he hurriedly stood from the bed.

"How do we make peace with the past, Alastor? How do I tell you what I need to and risk losing you?

"There is not a thing you need to tell me," he stated firmly.

"You need to know who I am and what I have..." she began.

But he interrupted her. "It was not some idiot platitude, what I said, Minerva. There is NOTHING you need to tell me. Each of us carries a great deal, and we each must make peace with a world of things. And the LAST thing you ever need to do is justify any ancient history to me."

"_...there is not a thing you need to tell me.... ancient history..."_

So he knew! That knowledge blew through her taking her breath with it. She gripped the edge of the bed and slowly lowered herself to sit.

But then he would know, she told herself. If anyone had access to ALL the files. The files that contained the things the official ones did not, and if anyone was wise enough to read between the lines of what was written there ... it was Alastor.

"Are there many who know, then? Have other Aurors read those old files?" she asked in a hushed voice.

"I was the last. And that was years ago."

"How do you know you were the last?"

"Because I destroyed them," he told her gently, as he sat beside her. "It was all just hints. There was no fault in it. No one blamed you for that man's death."

"I blamed myself. You don't know everything that happened," she warned.

"I know I don't have a right to ask a thing. Whatever happened has haunted you. Made you cautious. It has cost you plenty. Minerva, I've known you for so very long...."

"You only think you know me," she objected.

"I know about Gellert's man and whatever he made you do? Whatever he made the _**girl**_ you were do? Minerva? Let it go."

"No," she said with resolve, but tears. "Not till I tell you."

***

Who would think Minerva had been a woman capable of black things? Of rash, cruel actions even against her enemies? But fear, betrayal and shame, Moody understood, could drive a person to almost anything.

It had been the summer of 1944. The Doodlebug Summer. She had been young, not yet 18. Many other women were not innocents at that age, not during the War. And Minerva, considered smart, had vainly thought she could navigate among the strange men and Wizards that flowed through London then ... even as an ingenue.

Edgar had seemed the most patient of suitors. In his late 20s and from Canada, he had said. A Wizard and a soldier, he professed to be amazed by her and all she had access to. She came from a well connected family and had been placed in the Ministry with an internship concerning intelligence gathering in Europe.

Quite simply, he used her. He used her twice. He told her that she was brilliant and beautiful. And she, who normally had no time for the way a man might flirt, gradually weakened to his words. She grew to like what she heard. In slow, scandalous steps, she fell to him. Suddenly, she was a virgin no more in an age when scandal would ruin her, shame her family. But it was all right she believed, because she still trusted him. She loved him.

But it was more than just the sex. What he wanted didn't stop.

...

"I'll turn you in," she told him, as she grabbed for her clothes and struggled to put them on. "You want to know who we have gathering information on Gellert!" She was crying now, knowing she had been played for a fool.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," he said calmly.

"I trusted you. I slept with you!"

"Not-so-wise Minerva. God, I've waited to say that," he said with an ugly sneer. "I did you a favor. It's not as if I had to chase any others away. So, tell me what you know or I'll tell your family and the people at the Ministry that you are a naïve, plain, little girl who's eager in bed and who _offered_ the secrets up to me."

She bolted from the hotel room, not trusting her ability to Apparate in her confusion. She could hear him swearing and leaping from the bed behind her. He would be after her as soon as he was dressed.

It was cold and wet out that night, and the street was empty. He was calling to her from across the way. Suddenly, she heard a far-off buzz interrupt his taunting. Her stomach dropped out at the sound. It was a rocket. A Doodle Bug. Edgar seemed unimpressed with the V-1's impending arrival, and after a dismissive look at the sky, he told her, "I am taking you to Gellert, girl. He expects me to have gotten some answers. He is going to be angry."

With that, he seemed to reach into the sky and pull the V-1 down. The rocket smashed blocks away, making slate and brick rain from the buildings and glass crack. Edgar smiled evilly. He blasted windows out in all directions in a show of anger. Fire was burning in the warehouse behind them as if a second V-1 had followed the first. The rocket was giving him just the cover he needed for his little display, she saw.

His face was unrecognizable in his fury. And he was outlined like the devil himself in front of the open window full of flames. She backed away. Guided as much by fear as hatred for this man who had stolen her pride and made the perfect fool of her.

"Come along, Minerva. We are leaving." He was done with the buildings and his wand was trained on her alone now, she saw.

She hung her head, the picture of defeat and acquiescence. She sniffed like a runny-nosed foundling, but inwardly steeled herself. It was the last time anyone would see in her the weakness of the child, she vowed. She just hoped it might serve her now. "You never loved me," she said as she took a few steps toward him.

"Of course not. Now come along. And don't try anything stupid."

She raised her arms as if to wipe her eyes. And with one fluid motion she pulled her wand from her sleeve and fired at him. It was not a killing curse. It was not an Unforgivable. But it was just as irretrievable. She watched numbly as he flew backward 20 feet, propelled by her fury, through the window and into the flames.

The fire warden found her there. She had managed to tuck her wand away into the hidden pocket before she collapsed into the street amidst the rubble.

She was taken to the Ministry and debriefed. She told them her story, keeping it as simple as possible, honest, but without elaboration. She befriend him, she told the investigator. He revealed himself to be a spy. He tried to abduct her and when she defended herself, he died ...

His death was ruled an accident, a result of the bombing. But Minerva knew. She had lost a great deal that day.

She would search her mind after that never quite sure, never quite trusting herself. Had she intended for him to die. Had she needed to defend herself in quite that way. Was it her youth, her pride, her shame and sense of being betrayed? What had moved her wand that day?

Guilt became a constant.

She left the Ministry internship and volunteered her time at a military hospital in Cardiff for the remainder of the summer. Those were different times and so her request come September to spend some weekends helping at the hospital was granted by the headmaster. And whenever school was not in session, she spent all her time with the wounded, because working helped with the guilt ... and because there was a patient there, Ben, who understood.

There are things you do during a war that you regret. And the point is to live ... to outlive those horrible things.

He was a muggle. A soulful man whose fighting was done. He was not proud or closed about what he had done. The mistakes that he had made in the war. And the forgiveness he had granted himself had come over the long months in that hospital.

She found herself confessing to him. She told him more than she had put into that report. With her eyes dropped into her lap, she admitted the shame of losing her virginity to a trickster. And he told her, "Shhhh. Look at me. It's done."

He was not repulsed. Did not recoil. And needing to lighten her soul, she told him that she had pushed Edgar when he had threatened to abduct her and that he had then died in the rocket fire.

"I knew it might kill him. Somewhere inside me I knew," she told him quietly that night as the lights burned low.

And he cried with her.

"I think we will be all right. The both of us," he told her. "The point is to outlive what we have done. We will make better days, Minerva. There is so much good in you and you deserve a chance to make better days." He squeezed her hand. "You won't stop coming to see me will you?"

"No. Of course not," she answered him quickly. "But I have to go now. I'm going to be late getting back. I'll end up in detention... again. " He smiled, pleased to be the reason.

"I can't even sit up properly to try to kiss you. If you'd let me, you'd have to lean down here a bit," he told her earnestly.

And then he waited to see if it would be her cheek that she gave him. She put a hand to his cheek and kissed him on the other side of the face. And lingered there. She hadn't kissed a man since that night the summer before.

She exhaled away the darkest thoughts and then kissed Ben on the lips. As she drew back from him, the realization hit her that this was it should feel like. You should be pleasantly surprised that the man you are with wants to be with you. Amazed and impressed. Maybe just a bit concerned that you don't deserve him.

She smiled and backed away from his bed so she could keep him in her view, before finally walking from the ward.

_I think I love that man, s_he said to herself.

...

The hospital staff did not think to inform her before she arrived three weeks later. He was only one patient among many. She was only a young volunteer, after all.

He had developed pneumonia. And because he was bed ridden and in a weakened state, it was proving difficult for him to fight.

She leaned down until her lips were by his ear. She felt driven to shorten that distance, to place the words directly in his brain. With a hand she put her feelings straight on his heart. "I love you. Do you hear me? Ben? You are mine. My sweet, sweet man. And you need to think about that future you've earned. That happiness you deserve."

She wanted to believe that he heard her, but she could never be sure. She watched him slip away before morning. It was so wrong a thing. How, as she watched, could his death seem so peaceful?

And although Ben had told her to forgive herself, her guilt stayed with her. Hope had not had time to fully form; instead it seemed to die with him. And without him, Guilt demanded she never let down her guard again.

***

"Just because Ben told me he could forgive me doesn't mean...." Minerva started.

"You think no one else could understand. Just him?" Alastor asked gently.

"An angel of a boy," she said as if far away. "Ridiculously young. Only 22. And.... Sometimes when I think on him, I'm not even sure he was real anymore."

"Real or not, he isn't here now, Min. There is only me. And you have to decide if that is enough for you. I'm no angel. I'll never see 22 again. And even if I was whole, I couldn't compete with a memory. Not his."

She winced a bit and squeezed the tears from her eyes.

She thought Alastor might leave, but she heard his voice rally. "I have listened to what you had to say, Minerva. I love you. No woman is half the measure of the woman you have become. You do deserve to make a future for yourself. And you do deserve to let yourself love again.... even if it isn't me that makes you happy in the end..." He began to push himself up from the bed. He would not crowd her while she took her time to think. He'd leave and she could find him with her answer, he decided.

But he never made it to his feet, her quick grasp pulled at his shirt and held him there.

She shook her head at him. "Do you have any idea who you even are, Alastor Moody?" she said, her eyes wide and her voice suddenly clear.

Her words left him dumbstruck, and he let himself sink back down onto the coverlet.

"No man has a heart such as yours," she told him. "And no man is so beautiful. Ben saved me when he tried to forgive me. But I have this feeling you are here to finish the job. You, my sweet, sweet man, make me happy. And I think I might deserve to be happy."

_XXXX_


	25. Chapter 25

_A/N: Steamy. Sexual Content Warning._

_Thanks for all the reads, Sel!_

* * *

Severus could hear her breathing, and he knew she was not asleep. He pushed his chin out and stared unseeing at the dark ceiling, as unwilling to break their silence as she was.

_She insists she loves me_, he thought, _and wonders why it bothers me._ _She thinks I don't understand, that these types of human relationships are beyond my comprehension. She has accused me of not knowing how love works. But I do. And I know if she is fool enough to think she loves me, she will put herself in harm's way for nothing. Well, for me. _

_I had put such stock in her intellect, I had not thought she would be so ridiculous as to fall victim to her heart._

_Sadly, she is not the only one playing the fool._

_These distractions here will trip me. __I can't think like this. Skeeter easily could have been someone else. Could have been a real threat. And there I was thinking about.... nothing. Left relying on instinct and adrenaline. _

_The time I spend with her, thinking about her and embarrassing myself with games, gifts, and poetry or purposeless talk? It's unseemly. The end of this war is coming, _he thought. _All of this was put in play so long ago. My promises. My errands won't wait while I play house._

_And that is why this needs to stop now. I need to put an end to this idiocy. I need to think clearly again, if I am to do what I need to do_.

_I must tend this job Albus has given me. And I know how it likely ends. I have known for years and never cared. Minerva, Hermione, Poppy. These women who would keen over me before I am even dead. They think I have simply lost the will to live - that I just need some reason to stick it out. Do I court death? No. But who else will be there? Who can bring the beast down? _

_God, I want this done._

_And if I can make a good end of things, I can finally stop being culpable. I can lay that burden down. Would that be so wrong, to leave this world feeling that all my debts were paid?_

_Clean. Finally, again, I would be clean. That was the promise Albus offered. I believed him then, believed that this was the way through. Surely nothing has changed. If I could just keep my thoughts focused, I would see that nothing has changed._

Tonight he could think it all, but he could not explain any of it to her. He knew he had been a silent, brooding mass in her flat for days.

Would it have helped if I had been able to say these things to her? What would it have changed if I had told her, "_I don't want any entanglements... I have worked so hard to not feel anything. How can I do __what the Headmaster requires__, if I care for anyone? Even myself. Am attached to anything? Even just this retched life?" _

_Besides, she knew all that. He had said it all before and saying it again only risked earning her pity..._

Unknowingly, he groaned, and in his frustration over his thoughts, he pushed roughly at his hair.

"I'm sorry," she said, as she turned to watch him. She didn't know what she was sorry for beyond the obvious suffering she saw in him, but it hurt nonetheless.

He closed his eyes and thought of the maps spread out on her desk and across her floor. Maps of northern Europe, maps of North America. All those books on battles, magic, and myths, and he knew she would not stay safe. That she was making plans to travel.

"You are going to leave here aren't you?" he asked in a peeved tone.

"Yes. As soon as I can make arrangements. Once you are back at school for term tomorrow, I'll work on that."

"What do you expect to find?" he complained.

"Maybe nothing," she said being purposely vague. "But I can't just sit here. My part in this is not over, I don't just turn into an incubator.... literally, and wait to hatch, do I? There is help out there, Severus. Forgotten secrets, perhaps. Or people and things. I don't know. I just want to try to find them. I'm feeling desperate, I guess because I don't want to lose," she told him, sounding agitated. It was leaving the thought incomplete that made her so agitated. Knowing that her thoughts were not ones she could share. Because what she had wanted to say was, "_Loving you makes me desperate to see this war finished. I don't want to lose you. And I think a way of protecting you is out there." _

Her hand reached out in the darkness and seemed to negotiate a truce. She held on to his forearm just as she had done in a testing way months before. He didn't flinch. He didn't pull away. Instead, he rolled to face her in the dark.

"This place is warded. You could be safe here." But he knew it was fruitless. And if he let it, worry over her would gnaw at him.

He turned away again and they lay in bed then like displaced statues ..... she curled up on her side facing him. He on his back, hands clasped across his stomach, eyes examining the distant ceiling plaster. He was the man on the proverbial couch. She was defensive, fetal, and withdrawing. The distance between them was miles more than the scant 4 inches between their bodies.

"Was it a mistake for you? The sex?" She lobbed in his direction after a long silence. But he didn't answer. "Since you pretty much heard my full confession on that subject when I was drugged, I just thought you might want to return the favor."

This was as good a time as any to chip away at that idea of romance, he decided. If he could get her to let go of some of that – wouldn't this transition be easier for her?

And so ruthlessly, he began. "You do not want to have this discussion, because you don't want sex, you want something _**lovely **_and _**meaningful**_," and his voice took on a queer quality that did not mock her, but the whole notion of love. "You want something beautiful to tie together the thudding of your heart with the reality that is...."

and his sing-songy mocking faltered... "well, me."

"So, I am deluded?" she challenged.

This was his opening and he took it. He rolled to face her and told her too eagerly, "Yes, about me. You are. Because this bitter, regrettable man who will leave you tomorrow is who I really am, Hermione. There are no amazing, romantic depths. I will _**never**_ say the right thing. Never do the right thing. I don't lead some pitiable solitary life that I need to be rescued from. I live the way I _**have**_ to. This focus. The distance I maintain? It is not easy, but it is necessary." He blew out a frustrated breath then and turned his anger to the ceiling, "People do not understand. Not Minerva with her meddling. Not anyone who suggests that things could change There is no room in what I do for distraction. We are so close to the end. Don't ask that I deviate Don't pretend I can change who I am. This absorption is critical to my success. There has been enough distraction," he complained.

"I've been a distraction? Did I get you tangled up in something?"

He forced a laugh. "You are worried you've seduced me, taken advantage of me?" he said half joking. And he rolled to lay a hand quickly to her back, comforting in contrast to his words. Then feeling the traitor given what he was going to say, he as quickly removed his touch. "It doesn't matter if the sex was a mistake or if being with you is a distraction."

"It matters to ME!" she told him.

"The point is. It all still leads nowhere. You want it to _**mean**_ something," he warned, purposely trying to limit her expectations. "You want it to lead somewhere... to a future."

"Oh, yes, 'future.' What a dirty word," she said with a bit of a sneer.

She would not be lectured. Not when it came to her heart and her emotions. "You've been quite clear. Why don't we agree to let the future take care of itself, all right? There is enough to worry about - here and now. Personally, I can't even imagine that June will come and this baby will be living on the OUTSIDE. A lot of things will change between now and then, Severus. You think I'm being an idiot, walking around with my heart on my sleeve, feeling all these things. I know. But I can't just turn that off. God knows how you ever learned to....

"Severus, I don't want to interfere with what you need to do. But I wouldn't just stop loving you, even if I could! You want no distractions. Fine, I get it. But maybe someday, when all this madness is done and you wake up alone, you might find that there is room in you for just ... _**half**_ a life. That's all. Is it so wrong to hope?"

"That we could be happy?" he spat, as if it was a slur.

"Yes," she said firmly. And she placed a hand over his heart.

He was too tired, too depressed, to actually feel it, but he snorted the disapproval expected. And then he let himself fall into the comfort of her possessiveness. Because to Severus Snape, it could feel remarkably good - although completely foreign - to have someone sane lay claim to you.

"You have done nothing wrong. Remember that," he finally said. It wasn't the words. It was the tone. To Hermione it was undeniably good-bye.

"After you leave tomorrow, when will I see you?"

"This tired carcass belongs to a dozen people before it belongs to you," he tried. That should have been enough to say, why did he suddenly want to soften it? "It's not because of you that I'm leaving," he whispered then. "And I was not just using you for the sex."

"The sex was great, obviously," she told him, surprised that this seemed to have turned into a past tense, postmortem on the subject. "But mostly, it was just about loving you. There was fondness and regard ... on one side if not on the other," she whispered.

"Infatuation is not only pointless, but dangerous. Enchantment makes us dull witted. You see only what you want and not the risk," he complained.

"I know that the danger is with us either way," she countered, "and that loving you makes it easier for me to face it."

He shook his head at her to end the argument. "I was here because I wanted to be. All right?" _God_, he thought. _Well that is Minerva's dearest wish fulfilled. I have admitted that I wanted to be with her._

They settled into silence while she considered what he had given her – the tense admission that he voluntarily spent time with her. Frankly, she had hoped for more. And it being Severus Snape, she was surprised she had gotten what she had without a door slammed in her face.

They had not had sex since the night she had first told him she loved him. He'd returned to her not to apologize for walking out on her, but to drag her before Voldemort. And they had spent the next few days together numbly avoiding any talk of a future. Every day she had expected him to leave and every day he had stayed. But with the Hogwarts term starting soon that was over now.

He would be leaving in the morning. And pride or no, she wanted him now. She wanted one more night with him to remember, even if the relationship was horribly one sided.

But she couldn't ask for sex now, not after they had dissected it.

And although he was tracing his finger tips over her arms now, he would not dare initiate it, not after berating her for her attachment to him.

"How is your back?" he asked, lightly. "Sore?" Already her center of gravity was hopelessly displaced. And already she had some pains at the end of each day.

"I'm fine. Once I'm curled up and I stretch it out a bit... really, it's all right."

But already, his hand was reaching around her and pulling up her nightgown. His fingers pressed low into her spine where the ache invariably settled. And she betrayed herself, let out a very satisfied groan as she shifted her head against his collar bone.

_Pitiful, _ she thought to herself. _A slave to hormones, those hands, and the sweet smell of this man._

Soon he was running his finger tips along her arm in a rhythm before traveling once up and down the outside of her leg. Even she knew that in the history of foreplay, this was a pittance and, yet she was melting for him.

But she wouldn't let him know just how easily he could make her want him. She wouldn't moan. She refused to grind against him. There would be no begging. She could negotiate this. Make it all his idea.

"If you wanted to..." she tried to say flatly. And she was embarrassed at the thick heave to her breath that came with it.

"What?" he asked, feigning ignorance. His hands never stilling. "Hmmm?" came his voice humming on her neck.

"We could have sex. It wouldn't make me love you any more than I already do. If you wanted to. If it wouldn't be a distraction," she said.

"If you need me," he said in offer. "I could...."

And then she stopped his hands, feeling the sleight. "Maybe you are right. Maybe since it is all _**meaningless**_." And she pushed his hands away gently. But they returned to crawl along her skin.

It became a game to see how quickly she could remove them and how they would come back to her. Again and again.

"If it is meaningless....." she said, seeming to question him. But he silenced her with his tongue, "...then we _**shouldn't**_, Severus." The last bit came out in a gasp as he backed away. She had lost her willingness for this banter, the idea that it was meaningless to him was too bruising.

"Hermione..." he whispered. His eyes held hers like he wanted so desperately for her to understand.

And she tried to hold him still. With a hand to his arm and one to his chest, she stared back at him. "Talk to me," she implored him.

She could have sworn the man was going to say something, but no, he just wriggled free. Tried to entice her, distract her from her questioning.

Slowly, carefully, he wrestled his arm loose, so that he could trace a single finger from her chin, down her throat, between her breasts and then back up.

"Let me," he growled. "I will fuck you right now, and I will well and truly mean it," he told her. And just then his finger travelled up to play with her mouth. She pulled it inside. Held it there with her hand in a swift motion. Licked it. Sucked it. Left him with one obvious thought. And then she released him. Pushed him away.

She seethed then as she held him at arm's length. "You'd '_**mean**_ it'? that's it? That's your idea of 'not meaningless' That you '_**mean**_ to fuck me?' I can get a dozen men in here to '_**fuck**_' me."

"It wouldn't be the same. You don't love them." He was hovering over her now, his eyes searing into hers. "And they wouldn't be with you..."

He let her push him off her.

"What is that supposed to mean? 'they wouldn't be with you?'" she asked him.

"The way I am," he said completing his thought.

She thought she was beginning to understand him, but his impossible emotions were too much work to navigate. He could be more plain or he could do without, she decided.

"You have work tomorrow. You should go to sleep," she said, lightly.

"You're right," he admitted in a strained voice.

But he didn't go to sleep. She felt his hand on her, and she let him gently tug her legs apart. He trailed a single finger up her leg and then down the other, making her squirm. As he removed his touch from her, he told her, "I don't know how to say it, but it _**isn't**_ 'meaningless.'"

And for a while the knowledge he gave her -_it isn't meaningless - being with me means __**something**__ to him_ – was so significant, it shut out the sensations he had created in her.

Then she felt that balance tip. That finger trailed up her inner thigh and down the other again, for just a moment. She twitched as she imagined all the things she wanted, his tongue on her, his fingers pushing inside her. But none of it came, he had stopped touching her. She moaned, sure that he would climb on top of her. But he didn't. And he didn't need to lay a finger on her to drive her insane, because between his admission of feeling and the desire he'd created in her, she was already there.

With effort she stopped waiting for him and moved her legs together. "I understand," she told him, fully playing his game now. She rolled onto her side, so she could touch him, and she found him out like an expert. With sleek movements she managed to remove his shorts. He didn't resist, and said nothing, but the sharp pull to his breathing was telling.

She moved from cupping him lightly to drawing him up and toward her. "Tell me what you need," she prompted.

"Oh. Don't worry about me," he tried as she stroked him. "I'm a big boy. I don't need any thing," he said, stubbornly.

But as her fingers lingered there, they found the tip wet. She said nothing, but let her fingers remind him with slow circles that he had been found out, that his lies were transparent.

Delaying gratification was proving to be an incredible, but nearly maddening contest. For Hermione, it became all about where he was _**not**_ touching her. And the slowness that she used on him, Severus would have described as exquisite, but merciless.

"It would be okay to give in," she coo'd.

"So give in," he said.

"You want me."

"Obviously," he trilled in her ear.

"Only me," she stated, feeling more confident now.

"Yes," he agreed, simply and readily. The way it seemed to spring from his chest, she thought it the most beautiful word she had ever heard. She kissed him heartily in response. She didn't care if she meant only _**a little**_ to him. No woman meant more, he was saying.

"Severus," she began and then faltered.

"Tell me..." he groaned.

"You're amazing."

"Not that," he said, his restraint choking him. "Tell me that it can stay that simple?" Could a woman manage with that? He doubted it, had certainly never witnessed it.

But he heard her promise, "Yes."

"Please," her voice caught, as he tested her with a single finger. But he would not continue, would not appease them both until she asked him plainly. Until his restraint had met with her approval, outlasted her, shown her the man he could be.

"Hermione. Tell me. God, Hermione. Tell me to do it."

And she did. She screamed it out. Begging him to do it.

"Perfect," she told him as she came. "Perfect."

_I don't want to let go of you. Not tomorrow. Not ever, _her brain was screaming._ I am scared, so scared you'll never come back to me,_ was all that she could think. But she just kissed him, held him, and told him, "Perfect."

...


	26. Chapter 26

Hope's travels.

...

They were at her door the next morning, and she could not help but think of Boxing Day, when they had stood there fighting, and things had seemed so hopeless.

His hand was on the knob and he was turned partly away from her, but she had not released him. He was dressed for Hogwarts. All he needed was the robes. His first students would be returning from break in an hour and he was expected at breakfast, but she was feeling possessive. She was not going to let him go, it seemed, and he was in no mood for an extended emotional scene.

"Hermione," he complained lightly, his eyes on the wood of the door. The pressure from her finger tips began to work its way down from his shoulders. And as she pushed against him with her hip, her fingers dug into his sides.

"Hermione?" he asked as he reached, unseeing, to touch her.

He had watched her dress for work with that sad, hungry finality of watching a toy put away on a shelf. So, he knew she was not trying to drag him back to bed now. She knew there was no time. She wouldn't tease him, not when he needed to focus to Apparate. _So, what was her game?_ he thought with a hint of irritation. Could she be so utterly immature suddenly as to find provoking his response amusing?

"Before you go..." she said.

Her hands were on his trouser buttons now and her breath coming as quickly as his.

"I've wanted to......" she told him, leaving him to only guess.

He did not believe her. Would not have believed this was happening to him ... ever. Had not even had the properly formed imagination to allow for this fantasy. And now .......

"Oh, God," he said, as sensation poured through him.

She had him in hand now and her fingers and the cool air of the flat teased at him.

"We don't don't have time... " he groaned, as his eyes helplessly closed.

"Then be quick," she half teased, and with a hand to his hip she managed to ease him full around and pull his trousers further down.

Was he shocked as he watched her and felt her slide to her knees in front of him? He had woken up in countries he had never seen before. Rolled over to find his clothing full of burn holes. Been stunned, dropped from heights and been less surprised than he was to see her there.... to feel the wet and warmth of her mouth work on him.... and to hear her tell him in that sultry, confident voice, "Be quick."

_Be quick?_ Like hell. Not that he was likely to prevent it... But he had had a life time in hell and was promised an Ever After, no doubt, of the same. Obviously there had been some sort of mistake made right here and right now, and he had been gifted someone else's life. So, he was going to enjoy it.

"I want you to think about...." she whispered, as she eased back.

He groaned from the loss of contact and she teased him with her tongue before tackling him again in earnest. _**Minx**_, she had planned this! She wanted him here by her door. Her good bye scene would be anything but teary by design. Dear God.

Her hand gripped and creased the perfect edge of his coat, and he found himself urging on its destruction. Every once in a while, just maybe, it was possible to change a thing, she was showing him. This good bye was beginning to have the feel of a victory buzzing through his veins. His wrinkled teaching suit would please him like some Ministry medal thrilled a soppy clerk.

She was turning his world on its ear. God, that had to stop. Soon. At some point. _Oh Fuck._ Just not now.

And with a shout, a shudder, and a whine, he was spent. And incredibly, she kissed him. Nuzzled him. Had the audacity to sound contented down there, while he willed himself not to fall bonelessly to the ground.

He braced himself against the door and reached down to help her to her feet. She laughed at her ungainly progress up his chest. No longer amazed, he watched her tuck him in and fasten his trousers, all before his middle aged breathing was back to normal.

He was not a giving man, but neither was he a blind one. And it was easier to _**do**_ many things than say the sparest words. She had wanted this kind of good bye as much for herself as for him, he decided. She had needed something more than sorrow and empty words at his departure. How could he answer her? What would leave her feeling worthy and beautiful and cherished, when these were not words he could say or even fully understand.

In so many ways, he had been the one who had come to this relationship a virgin. Untouched. Unknowing. Inexperienced. But somehow as he looked at her, he knew what to do.

Before her hands were even still at his clasps, he pulled them up to touch his lips to them reverently. He began with her palm – that lover's kiss that they had faked months ago was now blessedly faultless. The sight of him bent over her hands, and the feel of his hair brushing her wrists, raised a moan from her. He kissed her hands more fervently then, before he pulled her in to kiss her mouth.

She groaned at the eroticism of it - thrilled as he actively dove into her to pull all the taste from her. That acceptance sealed the act, perfected it. He made her his lover and not some tool or tart.

"I love you," she told him ardently, as she held his face in her hands like a treasure.

"Be careful," he replied. It was not an equal return of her affection, but he had managed not to flinch at her declaration, she had noticed.

He kissed her hard, but finished softly, subtly drawing away his hand and tracing it down her arm as they parted. She swore there was a sad glance at her belly before he met her eyes one last time.

And then he was out the door, as swift and slick as Professor Snape of old. And somehow, no good byes were ever said.

###

Severus was a very distracting, stiff, and agitated presence as he paced in Minerva's quarters that afternoon.

"I've gotten a letter from Hermione," Minerva informed him.

"When?" he asked with irritation and surprise.

"Just today. What is she onto, Severus? She is asking me about protection myths. Ancient weapons. And she is hinting about Horcruxes. What have you been telling her?"

"Nothing. I wanted nothing to do with whatever it was she was researching. I was trying to discourage...."

"Do you think you might have kept a better eye on her? Kept an old lady from being blind sided?"

"Because I have nothing else to do?" he said, sharply.

She shot him a look that implied he might have had time had he given up an activity or two.

"Nice photo in the Daily Prophet by the way," she said as a dig. "Oh, I know," she said with a hand up to forestall his objections, "No one can tell it's you. It's just a ...._**blur**_ Hermione is with. Let's forget that, and perhaps you should just tell me why you have come to see me."

"I need you to be the good mother hen. Mother _**lion**_," he corrected in his pinched voice. "And keep Hermione from running off alone. She has dreamed up some trip she must take. There must be someone you can send with her." It was his agitation over Hermione that made him so difficult today, she saw, but she didn't want to show the man pity. Not when he expected a bit of a tussle from her, the form of communication he was most familiar with.

"Do speak civilly. Do try to make a request sound like a request, and DO SIT DOWN. You'll wear a hole in my carpet," Minerva insisted. These were the strokes that fed him as surely as another person lived for quiet conversation and petted rewards, the old witch believed. But then she had no idea the strides his newest tutor had made with him just that morning.

"Now, tell me, how is she doing?" Minerva asked Severus, but she got no answer.. Minerva rose then from her spot, carrying a cup of tea for him in a near-threatening manner. Wordlessly, she pointed at the chair she wanted him to occupy. Her eyebrows indicated a state of extreme impatience that gained his compliance. Once he was seated, she handed him the porcelain cup and saucer as if to weigh him down. Seeing him properly arranged, her demeanor improved.

"Is the pregnancy proving difficult for her?" she asked, more sweetly now.

"She doesn't bother me with those things," he said petulantly, without sparing the tall woman a glance.

"And you notice nothing? Or care not at all?"

Severus feigned not hearing the witch and sipped from his tea.

"It is this talk of travel that is the most bothersome," he finally said. "Some fool's errand she has dreamed up, looking for the truth in myths."

"Pregnant women do travel, Severus," Minerva said, gently. "She isn't due until June. Should we just lock her up until then?"

He looked at her. His wishes plain in the rise to his eyebrows.

"Must you be so difficult, Severus?" she said with excessive pleasantness, as if remarking on the weather.

"Must you be so sickeningly ..... happy. Just because you have secured a steady supply of.... " he equivocated, as he let his eyes travel exaggeratedly to rest on her bedroom door.

"He's not in there, Severus," Minerva said in a teasing voice. "He's off soaking in the Prefect's bath. But yes, speaking of.... cat nip and old Aurors: Things change, Severus. Impossible things. Even impossible _**people**_. So, promise me, you'll think about that."

"Is this your personal testimonial on change, Minerva? How stirring," he said with only half the required venom. "My congratulations to Alastor on a hard fight won."

"I am trying to help you. I know what it is like to feel that you can only fight with an empty heart, Severus. With no attachments? But others fight best when theirs is full. I am merely warning you."

"Warning me? You are full on annoying me."

"It is possible to fool yourself. To convince yourself you are not as far down a path as you are. Would it hurt to be honest about how you feel?"

"We are speaking in the abstract here, about you?" came his return jab.

"Severus...." she scolded, but he chose to ignore her.

"Well, Good God. I'm.... happy for you Minerva," he told her sarcastically. "You woke up and realized you were already in a relationship with Moody and decided to stop deluding yourself. And because of that it seems we have to form a castle wide self help group? Maybe I could call ... Filch? or Pomona? Certainly, you would like to tell them they are both also secretly in committed relationships they are not admitting to."

Minerva's only response was to beam at him. That he had not expected.

"Why are you smiling like that, woman?" .

"I said, 'down a path.' YOU said 'committed relationship," she replied, happily.

"Minerva," he said, tiredly sidestepping their latest exchange, "I am here because she needs your protection."

"Not yours?"

"I will not be available. I am about to become very involved in.... more extensive planning with the Dark Lord. My position with him has changed. And the course of his war against the Muggles has changed," Severus said with distaste. .. "So, no Minerva. I cannot see to her. I know all too well what my future holds."

"You talk as if you've made a pact with death, Severus?" she said, plainly and accusingly.

He felt his weight roll to the back of his chair, as if he had been physically pushed by her words.

"Enough, Minerva...." he managed, weakly.

It was if the very air in the room had changed. The friendly bickering was clearly done, and the mood had turned intense and solemn. Minerva took on a hushed tone to continue saying what Severus did not want to hear.

"I know that you blame yourself for so very, very much." she said, quietly. "Even for those deaths that you could not have prevented... And that Albus has all but used that blame you feel - like a key to turn you. You were a young man then in the middle of a war, and you made mistakes. But instead of worrying about finding _**forgiveness**_, I believe you have just always held your life as forfeit in the end. That THAT would be your way to find redemption?"

Something like anger lit his eyes briefly and his words spilled from him at first, "You have a problem with an honorable .... with the idea of a Slytherian with a soul?" He calmed himself some then and continued, "Until recently, I had thought you capable of serving your own private penance and minding your own business a bit better. I came here to discuss one thing, Minerva. Will you or will you not discuss Miss Granger and her safety?" he asked with sudden formality.

"I AM discussing her," she said with an uncharacteristic loss of temper. "Because unless you tell me there is _**nothing**_ between the two of you, then all of this is about her." Minerva shook her head then and began again. "For a moment forget about any deals you have made with Albus or the devil himself. Those things may have motivated you in the past, but whatever Hermione is up to, she is probably being driven by her feelings for you. Can't you see that?! Meanwhile, you are still bent on self-destruction! It has taken me years to figure you out, Severus. Years to see beyond myself and, as you say, my own private penance. I don't want to watch you waste as many years as I did. I don't want to think that you would believe yourself irredeemable."

And then she asked him, gently, "Does Hermione know, Severus, how little you value the idea of any future? I would bet she does. THIS is the warning I mentioned...Sometimes we are not up against our enemies or even our past, but the people who love us. And sometimes the fiercest and most stubborn of us will find, thank God, that we do not stand a chance against them. I will tell you again what I said the other night. The past can't claim much hold over your future or Hermione's, not unless you are fool enough to let it, because _**everything**_ has changed, Severus. This situation and this woman who has latched onto you are different than anything you have ever known. We only _**think**_ our paths are chosen, Severus. And I hope you see that you can be wrong about yours."

He turned his head from her and swallowed hard. But then he answered her steadfastly, "This sickening optimism in you and in her ...is senseless. She _**shouldn't**_ get her hopes up. She should not expect that I would live. She should not believe that there is any future or that I could be any sort of father to the boy."

"So, you are fundamentally against hope," she prodded.

"It is beyond pointless. It doesn't work."

"No. It _**didn't**_ work," she stressed. "Hope failed you once."

"We are just pawns, Minerva. We have been arranged thus. Nothing more," he said flatly.

"Is that really all we are? And when the game is won, Severus. These pawns, what do they do then?"

"Minerva..." he complained, tiredly.

"You needn't tell me the answer, Severus. Maybe you do not even know it, yet," she said, piquing his interest. "But what is it that plays involuntarily across that pawn's mind, right before he gives himself to sleep? Does he ever see... a future?"

Severus sighed and placed his tea cup none-too-gently on the table near them.

"I know," she sighed. "I know. You'll not tell me, even if I do make head way with you. But one favor...."

He groaned and she laughed. "One favor," she whispered leaning in. "I will not tell you to care or to hope... but if you should find you do, do not count it out, hmm? Let it be. And in exchange, yes. I will go see Hermione and I'll make sure that whatever she is up to is.... well, safer than her usual exploits. And that she has someone trustworthy with her.

"Now," she continued, "I should have warned you earlier," she said with a look at the gold watch pinned to her bodice. "But the Headmaster needs to see you in 5 minutes."

Severus visibly steeled himself before pushing out of his chair.

"Thank you, Minerva," he told her, sounding less than truly grateful.

****

Severus floated his words out gently in the direction of the pale man seated behind the desk. "You asked to see me, Headmaster?"

"What have you been doing, Severus? More appropriately, I should ask you what have you been thinking?" came Albus' surprisingly clear voice.

Severus took a few, slow steps closer to the man while he battled the confusion he felt at so severe a greeting. "To what do you refer, Headmaster?" he asked, finally.

"The Daily Prophet."

"I saw it," Severus said quickly and defensively, "The image was a poor one. Skeeter did not even bother inferring that it was me..."

"And why would that be.... do you imagine?" The old man's icy tone stung and astonished Severus. Dumbledore held Severus' gaze harshly until the younger man might understand that it was not luck. The Headmaster or someone had been involved in the story's suppression. And he was excessively displeased about it.

The headmaster's good hand came up to rake across his tired face then. And embarrassment uncharacteristically burnt into Severus'.

The elder wizard's outburst had caught Severus dizzily off guard. Was Albus' temper caused by the sickness and fatigue that were slowly claiming the old man? Was it driven by his frustration with the pace of the war? Or was this the real Albus Dumbledore, the man who lived behind the calculated veneer of patience, warmth, and humor?

"A few months ago," Albus continued, tiredly, "you told me this relationship would be all too transparent as a lie. And now? A Wizard of your caliber has had his head so completely turned, he can't even...?"

"Enough, Albus," came Severus' clipped words. He'd been made to feel his shame; he wanted this interview over.

"Is it enough? Severus?" Albus asked like a scolding, domineering parent. "What the hell has happened to you? Can you tell me THAT? I don't remember you telling me you would even be in London after that one weekend you needed to put her in that flat. So, now. Have you had enough of the girl that you might be able to keep your mind on the task ahead?"

"Yes, Sir," the younger man ground out. "I'm as good as done with her."

_You needn't worry_, _Headmaster,_ he thought with defeat, as he bowed his head, _I know not to hope for more_.

* * *

**A/N:** Dumbledore is on the 'side of the light,' yes. But he is no snow white angel. No more than the rest of us are. But there he stops being average, because he has incredible power and wields exceeding influence. He has a great many person's total trust. And the degree to which such a person as Dumbledore might change everyone's destiny (or try to) has recently intrigued me.....

as Sev would say.... "Obviously."

_**Thanks to the one, the only: Selmak.**_


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Sorry to be so long. This WAS written. And it begged to be re-written. One word. Minerva. (She writes her own dialogue. And is hard to edit down. YOU try it! She is quite formidable!)  
**

* * *

"Hermione?!" came the startled sounding voice.

She was ready to duck into the shop and avoid him, but she couldn't, not knowing who it was. She stopped with her hand on the door knob and looked down. Waited. Already she could hear his foot steps quicken across the cobblestones.

"I work here now," she told him, as if apologizing or warning him.

"The twins told me. I have been hoping I would run into you. Can you talk with me? Do you have time?" Arthur Weasley asked gently. His words held concern that seem to touch her as softly as his hand to her elbow.

"The shop's closed. So, sure. But where would we talk? You don't want to be seen talking to me, I would think. Pregnant? Unmarried? A clerk," she whispered, suddenly feeling some of the shame, "in _this_ type of book store?"

"All of that aside, I want to know that you are all right," he insisted. "That you are safe and healthy?"

She felt transfixed. It was the familiarity of the lines etched in his face, perhaps. Or, it was the warmth in his voice. The acceptance she needed to find in him as a surrogate parent was there and real- something she had been denied all these months.

She relaxed bit. And smiled at him. She felt just by looking at him that all of this was true sincerity on his part.

He lowered his head to speak to her gently, soothingly. "You look.... good. You do, Hermione," he assured her. "There is nothing so pleasant as the face of a pregnant woman."

That simple statement made her lip tremble. The sound of a warm, concerned voice, shattered her.

Arthur was aware immediately of what was happening. "Oh, I've done it now. I'm sorry. I had poor Molly in tears for half of her time pregnant. And THAT, as we ALL know, is a very long time," he joked. "So, I will take this book bag for you," he said, relieving her of that burden, "and we will go for a bit of a meal, all right? Just around the corner here, we can get some soup."

Hermione nodded, afraid to speak and have her voice crack and betray her.

She felt his hand on hers. She let him wrap that hand in at his elbow, carefully and gently. And then, with his nod and smile, they stepped off together. He chose a small tavern, and he saw her quickly to the back where they took up seats in a secluded booth.

"There are things I can't tell you. You understand?" she warned him.

"I don't, really, Hermione. I don't understand why everything is so complicated. But, all I care about is you. Really," he said.

Still, that would not stop him from cataloging her statements. Eying her keenly. And wondering how a pregnant girl would have so much to hide.

"You are seeing a midwife then?" he asked between mouthfuls of chowder.

"Yes, well. And no. I had been seeing one in Hogsmeade."

"And you are getting all the right foods?"

"Yes," she said with rising amusement.

"Do you know if you are having a boy or a girl?" And he watched for the reaction that would tell him so much about how she truly felt about having the child.

"It's a boy," Hermione said with a smile he noted seemed so genuine.

He nodded slowly. Inhaled, as his own smile pulled at his face, despite his misgivings. "What are you going to do when you have him? Do you know where you will live.... or , forgive me, if you will keep him," Arthur asked.

"There is someone who has made a few arrangements for me. I will ask him to help me find a place near Hogsmeade, I suspect."

"The father? Someone in the father's family?" Arthur prodded.

"Something like that," she said. Her little shrug made her look very much like the teenager she was.

"You are being very evasive, Hermione. And I will not press you for answers. But I worry about WHY you are being so careful with what you say. I worry that you have gotten yourself involved with people you don't trust. Or that you are in danger." She dropped her head, said nothing, but confirmed so much of it for him. "You saw last Sunday's Daily Prophet?" he whispered.

"I stopped reading that weeks ago," she said, trying to sound more unaffected than she felt. "As the infamous pregnant Head Girl, I am a bit of a punching bag for Skeeter."

"I still have it," he told her as he pulled the folded paper from his coat. "A waste of a picture," Arthur said by way of drawing her attention to it. "Although, it is undeniably your hair and someone who favors black clothing."

He waited, hoping she would say something, but she merely met his gaze defiantly.

"Surprisingly," he continued, "Skeeter does not even infer who it might be, when I would bet she saw him." He paused then. But Hermione did not confirm anything. " A lack of a photo would never have stopped her before. But then maybe even Skeeter is afraid of _**Dumbledore**_," Arthur posited. "And if I had to guess..."

Hermione shoved the paper back at him. This was a topic it was unwise for Arthur Weasley to pursue, and she would warn him of that bluntly. "Maybe she's afraid of Dumbledore," she told him flatly. "Or perhaps she is afraid of someone even more _**dangerous**_...." Hermione said holding his gaze firmly.

And Arthur pushed back into his seat, giving himself the distance he needed to consider this girl in front of him and the tangle of deceit that seemed to surround her.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley," she said, apologizing for the tone she had taken. "This is not a good topic. And I'm not the best of company. I spend all the time I'm not working alone lately," she explained sheepishly.

"And you probably aren't sleeping well? It can be difficult, I know. There are some tricks...."

"I have been having.... strange dreams. Do you know if that's at all normal?"

"It is, yes. Very, very normal. Magical mothers have especially vivid, and some people believe, somewhat prophetic dreams. Well, not that you are a prophet. But there is meaning in the dreams people believe. Is the baby in them?"

"Yes, in a way. But, I'm looking for him," she said, a little embarrassed at the notion of having misplaced the child even in her dream. "It's as if I have to do more than just look for him. I have to figure out some sort of puzzle in order to find him. And the whole time I feel as if he will not even want me to find him. I am just walking around, looking at runes and hieroglyphs, carrying this idiot blanket to wrap him in. I know he needs the blanket to be safe. And I can't find him. And then? I can't even find the blanket."

"You are worried, Hermione." Arthur said in a sympathetic voice. "Mothers worry. You are wondering if you are up to this task. And you want to protect him," Arthur said with a smile. "All very normal. Although only YOU would torture yourself with dreams of decoding runes and hieroglyphs."

"So, I'm not crazy?" Hermione said, finally relaxing enough to smile.

"Oh. No. Molly dreamt she was giving birth to a chicken once. We ate noting but rice and lentils for the rest of that pregnancy," he said with a little laugh. "The runes though," he said, looking thoughtful. "That makes a lot of sense. Mothers are very worried about their children and there is believed to be protection offered in runes."

"And I am dreaming about places I've never been. But then maybe I have been doing too much reading," she admitted.

He raised his eyebrows as if in question, and she sensed an opening. Where Severus had not wanted to hear anything of the reading she was doing, afraid to condone any of her wild ideas, she thought maybe Arthur Weasley would listen. Without saying a word, she slipped a book from her satchel. She quickly cast a Muffilato spell and yet still whispered to him, "I've been reading this. Well, all of these and _Magick Moste Evile._"

"Hermione," he admonished quietly at the mere mention of that book.

"It is not just _protection_ we might find in runes, but victory in battle, the old stories say," she said, more excitedly now. "These could not be ordinary runes, obviously." She was talking faster now, oblivious to the rising discomfort Arthur felt at the topics being discussed in the open. "And there are Native American stories of using magic to move one's soul. Things that might help Harry and Ron with...."

"Get up, Hermione," he said quickly, covering his mouth with his napkin.

He walked her back to the bookstore and they said their good byes on the street. "Hermione. I need some time and then I will talk to you again. In the mean time, please, be careful."

"Can you tell me if Harry and Ron are all right?" she said, as she caught a hold of his sleeve.

"Oh, Hermione, " he said, looking around.

"Trust me. Please," she begged.

"I do. I do. And I know you know what they are working on with the way you are talking. But not now. All right?"

And he stepped away from her to Disapparate.

///###///

She plodded up the stairs to her flat, her mind wondering when she might safely visit the twins. It would feel so good to have some news on Harry and Ron before she set off on her trip. She jangled the key in the lock and dropped her wards distractedly, then she froze, feeling oddly pricklish.

"Don't be alarmed, please, Miss Granger," an unseen whisper said quite levelly from the shadows behind her.

"Professor McGonagall! My goodness," Hermione panted. "I was just out with....."

The tall witch abruptly walked her through the now open door and into her rooms.

"Arthur Weasley," Minerva finished for her, as she used her wand to close and lock the door behind them. "Yes, I saw him walk you home," the elder witch told her brusquely. "The wards that prevent you .... and your guests, from being overheard are most effective INSIDE your flat, Miss Granger."

The professor walked in a circle, seeming to survey things. Her feline senses pulling in everything about the place, Hermione imagined, despite the near dark. Hermione was beginning to feel quite unnerved and continued to merely stand in the middle of her apartment floor turning slowly, watching as best she could, as Professor McGonagall continued her appraisal of the place.

McGonagall's presence no longer seemed as benevolent. _Just what was going on?_ Hermione wondered. And who, if anyone, was on her side?

And as juvenile a thought as she knew it to be, Hermione could not help but feel a rush of panic at the idea of the prim (and Hermione believed, mostly-likely sexless) Minerva McGonagall seeing that shirt of Severus' that she slept in. It was thrown over her bedroom door like some sort of flag advertising her sex life. Worse, had the keen cat senses pulled the smell of him from his pillow at this distance? Was it disapproval Hermione gleaned from her professor's stiff demeanor?

_God knows_, Hermione thought, _this is not the sort of thing someone her age can likely understand_. _Severus and I barely had any time together._ _But she would imagine that it was all about the sex. She won't even know about the worry. The feeling of constant trembling, here, _she thought with a hand to her gut.

_The way she is looking at every corner... God, can she tell what we did? Professor McGonagall couldn't even imagine, could she? Even with cat senses? Hermione, whatever you do, _she told herself, _do not even look at the front_ _door. _

And as the elder witch stole a glance, she saw Hermione had dropped her head and was engaged in a very quick and very Snape- like pinch to the brow.

Biting off her smile now, Minerva took the liberty of magically turning on the lights around the small place. Bringing her attention back to the center of the room, she found her former pupil with arms crossed, looking for a moment a bit more child-like and smaller than she had anticipated.

_Oh, girl_, she thought. _You think I can't possibly understand, as old and dried up as I've become? You think I would judge you?_ _Think you some sort of harlot for this?_ _You don't know how plain it is to me that it's love that makes you miss him.... makes you wear that shirt of his and hang it there where you can see it from every corner of your place. That it's worry over him that makes you touch your fingers to that necklace, quite unconsciously, even now. But let me see how deep this runs.... _

Quickly, Minerva apologized. "I'm sorry. Hermione. I've arrived uninvited. I have not told you why I am here, and I am, obviously, making you very ill-at-ease. I was not checking up on your house keeping. I was rather taken aback by the amount of maps and books that you have managed to pack into this space, I suppose. It is a lot to take in. And I was surprised to see you with Arthur before. That rather disturbed me."

"You don't trust, Arthur Weasley?" Hermione asked, amazed.

"I do. But we cannot have impromptu Order meetings in the middle of the street, Hermione. Now, these plans Severus has hinted at..... we need to discuss them." Minerva sighed then and retrieved a book from the table she stood near. "_**And**_ your choice of reading material, Hermione," she said, now brandishing the copy of _Magik Moste Evile_.

"I hope you aren't here to tell me to stop," Hermione told her with measured defiance. "Because there's no point. I know I am on to something important. Arthur Weasely hustled me back here as fast as he could as soon as I mentioned that book and the formation of Horcruxes."

"So, tell me what you are looking for."

"Let's sit down," Hermione, finally said. Once they were settled on the sofa she began, "I have read extensively about elemental magic. Myths. _**Anything **_that may have been lost from our traditions that we could resurrect to our advantage. Anything that could offer us protection or work as a weapon.

Minerva nodded silently.

"The most promising thing to me seems to be looking for artifacts that are referenced in myths. I believe the legend of Beowulf has enough kernels of truth to it that I want to explore the mound where his belongings supposedly lie. It is one of two myths where artifacts would still be undisturbed."

"The other?" Minerva asked.

"Just west of Sligo Town, in Ireland, there is a mound which legend says contains artifacts and the body of Queen Maeve. It has also never been excavated."

"What is your best proof that these are not just stories?" Minerva asked.

"With the research on Beowulf, what finally convinced me were the texts Professor Binns helped me get translated."

"Binns!" Minerva exclaimed, her eyes wide.

"Yes, you are not the only member of the staff I have been in contact with. I hope that does not bother you."

"No. And I suppose it should not surprise me."

Hermione ducked her head to hide the quick smirk and pressed on. "Many stories say Beowulf's treasure was made by the 'dark elves,' " Hermione began as the excitement of her research rose in her. "But," she said, reaching for a large torn volume, "that does not mean 'dark magic' the way some might think. Nor does it mean mythological creatures which never existed. It is a bit of a translation problem really. It was something the northern goblins called the southern ones, those who did the smelting for making weapons. Binns and I didn't have any texts in Gobledegook but it was clear enough once we traced down root words in Old Norse and Old Germanic...."

"The significance specifically is what, Hermione...." Minerva said with a trace of impatience.

"It could make Beowulf's story part of magical tradition! Everything associated with him might exist. His armor, goblin armor! His sword. And those things could have the properties the legends say they do. Magical properties, the way Gryffndor's sword does. The barrow of Skalunda, which even the Muggles say is Beowulf's burial mound, has never been excavated, and should contain all these things," she explained, animatedly.

"Where is this?" Minerva calmly asked.

"Sweden."

"Oh, lovely. This is just a lovely time of year to travel to Sweden," Minerva said, as if stunned. "Now, I need you to be quite plain with me, Hermione, and tell me what if anything this has to do with Severus," Minerva urged her.

"Severus," Hermione said as confidently as she could while she gathered her thoughts. Hermione had wanted to present this idea of recovering magical artifacts as one unconnected to Severus. As something she was doing to further the course of the war as a whole.

And that obviously hadn't worked, she told herself. Even if Minerva judged her motivations as selfish, there was no hiding them now, she knew. And so she swallowed hard, wondering if Minerva might ever understand.... and she began.

"He thinks he will die in the final battle. He would never run. He believes it will be up to him to finish Voldemort."

Minerva nodded sadly. "That is the task he sees as his. Severus will be close to Voldemort. He will likely have the best opportunity to.... and well, that opportunity will come at a high risk."

"Beowulf's treasure includes incredible armor, if my texts are right. Light, Goblin-made mail that could be easily hidden. And many other things. There might be something there to help Severus. Something he might wear or carry with him," she said with increasing emotion. "He doesn't have to walk in there like some sacrificial lamb, if I can just ....."

She looked at Minerva for any sense that she was convincing her.

But Minerva was not asking to be convinced.

Minerva knew it was one of the world's biggest lies that the word "love" somehow uniformly or adequately described what passed between all the couples in the world's history. That the emotions everyone felt were some how the same in depth or extent or desperation.

Severus had told her that the young witch "believed herself in love" with him. And Minerva had immediately seen the changes to her....

But what Minerva saw now.... The anguish? The lengths she would go for him. The extent of feeling for him. It frightened the old woman to know how single minded this love had made her.

It was not an obsession, she knew. Nor a fixation. Having touched just the edges of it years ago, Minerva knew. It wasn't something that merely lived in you. It was you. All of you. Your imperative. Life itself. As if to draw breath was to love that man.

Minerva shook her head with the helplessness she felt. The look Hermione saw returned to her, worried her more and more. "Why would you look at me like I'm crazy?" she demanded.

"That is not what I intend, I assure you. I had known you were in love with him. I had just forgotten what it is to see... this, I suppose," Minerva said weakly and evasively.

"See what, Professor?"

But Minerva would not answer her directly for fear of sounding overly sentimental. Would not tell her how shaken it could make an old woman feel to see the terrifying, blind depth to this love that obviously motivated Hermione.

Something called her ghosts to her. And they handed her all those old pains.

Minerva could feel it in her gut, so real she pressed a hand to her abdomen. After all these years, her stomach could betray her. Drop out like that. Why would her heart conjure up all the hurt and hopelessness at wanting and loving...

and losing.

"You have a better heart than most," Minerva told her finally, trying to give her words a lightness she did not feel. "Certainly a younger one. To love that man takes a stamina few possess. And, in truth, too many of us have given up on him at times. He tries to drive people away, and he is largely successful at it. For his sake, I am _**not**_ here to talk you out of this. And I know you. It would do no good if I were to try," Minerva said more sadly then Hermione would have expected.

"He needs someone on his side," the old witch continued. "Wholly, unreservedly on his side. There is no one else. Not the headmaster. Not Poppy for all her distracted effort. Not me," she admitted. "He has often been beyond my patience and understanding, I am ashamed to admit. I hated that the Headmaster talked you in to this. That you agreed to this madness. But while it has robbed Harry of an ally, it has given one to Severus. It is likely that is just as important to the Wizarding world."

Misgivings or no, Minerva would not steal hope from her. Would not tell her that Sweden was too far to go to chase down fairy tales, because in truth, Minerva needed to believe as well.

Feeling her years- in her heart, as much as in her bones - Minerva pushed up slowly from her seat. And then startled Hermione slightly when she patted the young woman tenderly on the cheek. Hermione, was only further confused when she heard the words the old woman whispered,

"Siúil A Rúin," Minerva said with a sad smile. "I'll sell my rock, I'll sell my reel

I'll sell my only spinning wheel

To buy my love a sword of steel

Is go dtéann tú mo mhuirnín slán"

"Professor?" Hermione asked.

"You are not crazy, Hermione. You are just another in an endless line of women who would do _**anything**_ to protect the men they love. I just hate for this to be the world's inheritance for you. I know I can't stop you from going, but you'll see the midwife or Poppy before you do. And you will not go alone," Minerva said. "That much I will ensure.

"And I will pray 50 years does not find you telling some young woman these same words."

* * *

Siúil A Rúin

A folk song worth hearing. Just copy/paste at YouTube. The Celtic Woman version with Aragorn will make the LOTR fangirls scream no doubt. :)

And the mounds ARE there and unexcavated! Oooooo!


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: Thank you all for reading and especially to those who have taken the time to review. It is wonderful to know that I am not plunking away at this keyboard unanswered.**

**This is a quick, previously unplanned chapter. Arthur and Molly are strong characters not given their due in canon, and I find myself using them more than I had planned originally.**

**The second bit is my regrettable sense of humor. Or sense of .... well, something. I have cut it in mid scene so that you may weigh in to let me know just how squicked or tantalized you are. I have not finished it, although it has run amok in several interesting directions in my head.**

**I am not even Catholic and I have an overwhelming urge to say 'Mea culpa, mea culpa.' And slink away, head down.**

**

* * *

  
**

Molly Weasley wiped her hands on her ever-present apron. She silently followed her husband's signal to leave their house and visitors for a walk toward their garden shed.

"Fine night for a walk," she quipped from behind him, as she pulled the door closed. She wasn't sure anymore if it was paranoia or good sense that sent them out to the garden every time there was something that needed to be discussed. But she was growing tired of the extra work that came from the dirt they dragged in each time. "Please, tell me it is romance that has demanded it of you this time, Arthur Weasley. It _**is**_ a lovely sky...."

And she saw him draw his wand and sweep for anyone who might be about. Every wizard had his skills, his best spells, and Arthur Weasley could scan and seal off an area faster than any man. Molly sighed in disappointment, but wasn't surprised.

"Molly, Minerva wants Bill to go with Hermione to Sweden."

Molly stopped short and for a moment simply forgot how to breathe. She was not sure what part of her husband's announcement bothered her the most.... Hermione, Sweden or her son getting a summons from Minerva.

"And what does Bill say about this?" Molly finally asked.

"He is willing.... of course. But he wants to know what we make of it," Arthur said, cautiously.

"If I knew what the hell I made of this, I could better advise him....." she complained.

"Molly," Arthur tried to soothe.

"Don't 'Oh, Molly' me. What are the Weasleys? The Order's purveyor of horse flesh? Just because there are so many of us, they get to throw one of us at what ever action comes up? We haven't heard from Ron in..."

"Let's sit down," he said, pulling her to sit with him on the bench against the shed. "Minerva needs someone mature and capable, and she said there was an outside chance there would be Goblin magic involved. Bill is the obvious choice, Molly."

Molly considered these things and with a few more breaths relaxed. "Alright. Then I feel better about it. The trip is suited to him. But what is it Hermione is up to? Traveling around pregnant? We have never been made to understand _**what**_ is going on with her. And I don't like it, Arthur. I don't like a bit of it."

"I know," he agreed, grudgingly. "There are layers upon layers we are dealing with here. Obviously, the Order is still in contact with Hermione. Or are we just to believe that an old professor is arranging a traveling companion for a former student?"

"There is some sort of deceit here. But the pregnancy, that much is real?"

"Oh, yes. Even without a diagnostic wand, I would have to say that Hermione is really pregnant," he supplied, drolly.

"We are on the fringe of something we have no control over. And we don't dare ask questions. We don't dare sniff too closely. But something is wrong," Molly said seriously. "Ordinarily, Hermione would have confided something in you when you saw her."

"But the kids have kept things from us before. They never let on to us when something was part of this war, when something was tactical."

"Since when is a pregnancy something TACTICAL?" Molly sagely wondered.

"What are you thinking then, Molly?"

"I am thinking, I wish I knew who the father was."

Her husband gave her a disapproving look. "Oh, come on now, Arthur," she continued. "I am NOT just gossip mongering. I am not one of Skeeter's idle curiosity seekers wondering who got the Head Girl pregnant or what the hell she was thinking being so foolish.

"Okay. That last part DID occur to me at first," Molly admitted, as she raised up a hand in response to Arthur's knowing look. "And I am not just bitter because she broke up with Ron.... But who is the father?...You KNOW that has to be the crux of this little matter. This isn't being handled as if it were just something between two students. And Hermione is being so very evasive." She paused then, knowing she was risking Arthur's temper with her next statement, "If Sirius was still alive, my money would be on him as the blackguard responsible."

"Molly," Arthur warned.

"It isn't Remus. Tonks has him under wraps."

"Please. We cannot sit here in the garden and work our way through every man Hermione has had passing contact with, Molly."

"Passing contact? That's a quaint way to put it. It's a man she _**had sex with**_ and is now protecting, Arthur. THAT narrows it down."

"Ron was sure it was that Krum fellow," Arthur said.

"Well, that's perfectly likely, I suppose. With people not knowing were his family stands in this war, I can see her being very wary about what she says, if he is the father," Molly said, weakly.

"You don't seem satisfied."

"Something is just not right, Arthur. All this time the Order has been pretending nothing ever happened. You remember you tried to ask about Hermione at an Order Meeting _**months**_ ago. Dumbledore wouldn't even talk about it. I figured it was because it was a school scandal..... But now?! Ha! We have Minerva arranging a trip for her!"

"So, now what are you thinking?" Arthur asked.

"I don't know," she said with a tired groan. "But, we need to keep on our toes. That's all I am saying. This isn't about minding our business anymore. Minerva is _**making**_ it our business now. Bill's going with her to Sweden. Ron is off God-knows where without Hermione's help because of all of this. It would be foolish to not be careful and see what we can find out."

Molly stood up abruptly as if to end the conversation. She looked down at her husband as if she expected him to follow. But he didn't budge. She shook her head as she took in the soft blue eyes that rested on her. "God, I've become a hard woman. Haven't I, Arthur?" she sighed, as she sat back down next to him. "What am I saying? Nothing about this situation maybe normal. But, this is still Hermione. I can't even imagine how she is managing, alone and pregnant. We have to offer her our help. ......And then we see if Minerva steps on our toes for it," Molly concluded.

"Agreed," her husband said, as he wrapped an arm around her, and pulled her in against him. "Bill wants our recommendation on whether or not to accept this job from Minerva. We may not know everything that is going on, but I am willing to trust what Minerva says. That this is important, but safe. And that Bill is the obvious choice," Arthur said.

Molly nodded. "When do they leave then?"

"Three or four days from now at the latest."

###

It was late. And she never got visitors. So, Hermione walked to the door expecting to see Mr. Gandymeade there with instructions for work or with more complaints about the time she would be taking off. It was too much to hope that it was Severus, she thought with a sigh. She hadn't had more than an owl from him in nine days.

Peeking through the door's peep hole, she was more than a little surprised to see her former flying instructor. She immediately opened the door to find a stiff looking Rolanda Hooch staring at her. The woman seemed decidedly uncomfortable about being there.

"Oh, goodness, Madam Hooch. If someone has asked you to check on me, I apologize. Really, there is no need." Hermione said, feeling flustered.

The longer her visitor did not answer, the more paranoid Hermione became. Finally, she reached for her wand at the same time that the lithe form of the flying instructor rushed her through the door.

"Miss me?"

The growl was unmistakably Severus' and slowly, Hermione was beginning to reconcile its coming from Rolanda Hooch's mouth.

"_**You**_ are a mad man," she said, sounding simultaneously happy and confused. She closed the door so that they were safely inside her flat. She backed up and leaned against the door now so that she could get a good look at him.... her. And she smiled, shaking her head, as she demanded of him, "What are you doing here? Polyjuiced and looking like ... _**that?!**_"

"Minerva sent me. You need an ante-natal visit and, apparently, I am _**just**_ the man to do it." he said wryly.

This was going to be an interesting evening.

###

???


	29. Chapter 29

"_Miss me?"_

_The growl was unmistakably Severus' and slowly, Hermione was beginning to reconcile its coming from Rolanda Hooch's mouth._

"_**You** are a mad man," she said, sounding simultaneously happy and confused. She closed the door so that they were safely inside her flat. She backed up and leaned against the door now so that she could get a good look at him.... her. And she smiled, shaking her head, as she demanded of him, "What are you doing here? Polyjuiced and looking like ... **that?!**"_

"_Minerva sent me. You need an ante-natal visit and, apparently, I am **just** the man to do it." he said wryly._

_This was going to be an interesting evening._

A VERY interesting evening, because she could tell he was serious about the exam - he was holding Poppy's black bag.

"The Headmaster felt it was too dangerous for Poppy to come," Severus-Rolanda explained, "so here I am."

Hermione could only stare and smile, delighting in the dichotomy between the voice and the form. Of course, he could have managed a fairly good fake of the flying instructor's voice if he had wanted to because he had her polyjuiced vocal cords at his disposal. But he was instead exerting his will to project his own voice.

"Now that you are here, couldn't you just take the antidote and have an actual conversation with me, Severus?"

He groaned. "No time. Poppy was supposed to come examine you, but it is dangerous to travel here. Your flat is often being watched. There have been attacks in Diagon Alley, as you know. And Professor Dumbledore .... well, Dumbledore has made some confused policy decisions on this matter. " ' Professor Snape' " he said in tortured tones, "is not to come visit you. Dumbledore does not want me near you..... I am not sure if Minerva is ignorant of that fact or is _**pretending**_ she is. And the Headmaster does not want Poppy to come down here given the current risks. So, _**this**_ is Minerva's outlandish attempt to meet requirements and circumvent them all at the same time." He set Poppy's black exam bag down on the table by the sofa and then pinched his brow in Snape-ish manner. "The short of it is," he said with aggravation, "I am not carrying the antidote, as if I revert, I do not have a dose allowing me to change into our favorite referee again. I will revert when I return to the Hogwarts infirmary."

"That's not funny."

"And I'm not laughing. But I am sure that Minerva and Poppy are."

"Why didn't you just bring a second dose?"

"Poppy and Minerva carefully prevented me from accomplishing that. THIS," Severus said, passing a hand over the black tee shirt where it disappeared into the loose black trousers, "was what Minerva offered. She had the audacity to tell me not to... dawdle."

Hermione picked up a couch pillow and buried her face in it before telling him, "This is very wrong. On so many levels. But. All right, Poppy has given you a diagnostic wand?"

"Yes, and there are some samples I will take back to her..."

"No!" she shrieked in mock alarm.

"Yes!" he countered. And he paused. He watched her lips, watched the youthful way the grin played across her face. Disbelief washed over him, the way it did every time she smiled at him. Here in the middle of this empty room there was no denying it - _**he**_ made her feel that way. Safe and happy and foolish.

And despite himself, the absurd situation, and the form he had been forced to take, he felt their familiar banter taking hold of him. Felt it pull at him. He felt the way it made his lip twitch into a half smile. "Alas," he told her with false disappointment. "Only urine and blood. You thought .... or hoped... Poppy would have me collect something more from you? Shameless girl," he teased.

"What does Poppy know then?"

"Only that Minerva thinks it safer for me to be here. Minerva remains the only one on the staff who knows there .... are _**irregularities**_ between us.."

"Irregularities. Hmmmm. Yes," Hermione said with a wag of her eyebrows. "I've missed those, even if it has only been a little over a week. If you don't mind..... Severus, " she said forcing herself to use his name. "I am going to close my eyes for a bit. You may do what you need to." Comfortably resting with her head on the back of the couch, she then laughed a bit. "And Severus?" she told him. "Talk as much as you'd like. I've missed your voice."

He had missed a thing or two as well, he realized, but he did not give that voice. He turned to the check list Poppy had given him and began. As they worked through the list, Hermione showed herself better prepared to perform many of the tasks.

Soon, the urine sample was safely in the bag, he had seen her feet were not swollen, and he had inspected her legs (although perhaps a bit slowly) to insure there were no spider veins as yet.

"Next, I am supposed to check the baby's heart rate," he told her. She settled back down onto the couch and lifted her shirt so that just the edge of her bra showed. His hand and the wand inexpertly moved about her belly until Hermione took both his hands in hers and guided them.

"Like this, I think," she whispered. And the wand and Severus both registered a certain spark.

"I'm 21 weeks," she told him trying to make conversation as the wand ticked off the heart beats. "So, more than half way done. And I read that means he is about the size of a carrot." She looked at him then more intently, watching him for any reaction, but he seemed overly concerned with watching the diagnostic wand change color. He was measuring the baby now as best he could. He was being so quiet, it was making her oddly nervous. "Sometimes I think I feel him moving. Like right now, it feels like a butterfly inside me. Do you think that's him? Right here." And she held his hand still over the spot where the fluttering was.

Something in her eagerness made him want to pull his hand away. Some sort of instinct fired in him. She felt his hand twitch, but she held it fast.

"I don't feel anything, Hermione" he told her flatly. "And I have to get these things recorded. You may not believe me, but this is the first exam I have performed on a pregnant woman. So, it requires a bit of concentration on my part. It doesn't help that my fingers are not my own," he complained as he pulled his hand away snapishly.

She closed her eyes then to hide her disappointment. She listened to the uneasy breaths, recognized their rhythm. Their agitation. But not the person's scent. And when she raised a hand unseeing to touch her attendant's cheek, she found the skin strangely soft, but the jaw familiarly clenched. "Don't be mad, Severus. I didn't mean to push you so hard. I'm sorry."

"All right. Now, behave," he growled, as he continued to pass the wand over her. A minute later, he told her simply, "I'm finished," Finished. Still, he was frozen there beside her. Unsure what to do next.

She reached out and snagged his hand.

"You're anxious to go," she said, sensing his unease.

"I need to go," he clarified. He moved to pull away and then he stopped. He would confide in her, he decided. "We are in a strange situation."

"Yes, I've noticed," she said, lightly, not sensing his mood.

"I am speaking of the situation with Professor Dumbledore. He has changed as this war has changed. Everything feels very precarious. More precarious than I ever remember," he confessed. "Perhaps the window dressing is just gone, but Dumbledore is adamant that I not see you. He senses the distraction, I suppose. He wants to make sure I am firmly focused on providing information for him."

"I have been thinking about this, too," she told him. "The Order feels so splintered and I wonder if this is by chance or by design. Minerva was acting skittish about seeing me with Arthur – and Arthur was acting very worried, too. So it doesn't surprise me that you feel as if Dumbledore is nothing more than your task master now. The Order, everything, will likely fall apart even more before the end... But you can rely on me, Severus," she said, intently and raised a hand to the slim shoulder of the flying instructor. "And I trust you. Completely."

He nodded. Feeling naked and exposed by what he had already said.

She closed her eyes and shut out the vision of Rolanda sitting there. Using the grip she had on his shoulder, she pulled herself in, capturing his now soft face with her hand. And despite the strangeness of the feeling, she kissed him.

After a moment, he pulled away. "Don't," he scolded gently. "There are certain unspoken rules when assuming a colleague's likeness."

She wanted to challenge him on the notion of always abiding the rules. After all, her actions were infamous in Wizarding tabloids, and wasn't he a double-dealing Death Eater? But she let his comment pass. "I'll be leaving in a few days. But I'll be back soon. Very soon, if I find this is all a waste of time." He had surprisingly not asked about her destination or plans and so she kept her statements vague.

"I don't know that you will have a job when you return," he told her. "Gandymeade is not at all pleased about you leaving like this."

"I know," she said seriously and with regret.

Severus packed up all of Poppy's supplies. "I'm not sure about everything I looked at," he said in the most business-like voice he could muster. "but, I've written it all down and the wand records the readings, obviously. It looks like the baby and you are healthy."

"Good," she said, too resolutely and too happily. "Then I can go."

He wouldn't answer her. He wouldn't give her what sounded like permission to leave on a fool's errand.

He watched Rolanda's thin small hands fix the latch at the top of the bag. It was something he could have done with his wand, of course. Something he had obviously done to avoid looking at her. He cursed at the sight of those older woman's fingers as they fumbled then with the final clasp.

It had been years since he had been under the effects of Polyjuice. He laid a hand under his ribs as he rose to his feet. He had the queerest, most unsettled feeling. Maybe the potion was beginning to wear off? Perhaps Rolanda's body just was not man enough for a late-night, good bye scene, he thought with forced amusement. Or maybe he was about to make an utter idiot of himself.

"If you need help, it will likely be easier to reach Minerva than me," he told her, as he walked for the door. And then he turned away from her.

"Close your eyes, Severus," she said in a sure, clear voice. And he felt strong arms encircle him.

Just there beneath the breasts, she held his small waist tightly. And Severus rested his head against the wood of her door, and made a funny, sad, little noise.

"What is it, Severus?"

"Nothing. I think Rolanda has a middle-age, hormone imbalance, is all. So, release me, woman. Before I warp the wood of the door with my bitchy, little tears and demand to eat up all your chocolate."

She turned him around and saw from the look on his face that he was getting way too much pleasure from his horrible joke. He was enjoying it as a way of escaping this good bye.

"I love you, Severus." she said with a smile and the sparest tears.

"Be..." And his typical reply was lost, pressed back into Rolanda's mouth by Hermione's quick tongue.

Once Hermione broke off the kiss and pulled back, he could only manage, "Good God, Woman!"

He stared at her, his arms on her biceps, restraining her, as if afraid she would attack again. Rolanda's distinctive yellow eyes were wide, and behind them his brain was obviously trying to process the different way the kiss had registered with the polyjuiced body.

He was distracted enough that he missed the first ping at the window. When Hermione turned her head at the second, he told her, "With the number of wards I have placed on this flat, nothing ....."

"The twins have discovered they can throw small pebbles. For some reason THAT works. They only did it once before...."

She walked to the window to peek out from a crack in the curtain to confirm it was the Weaselys. Severus stood by the wall to stay out of sight. He passed his fingers over Rolanda's lips where they still tingled and worked to slow his heart rate. The one benefit to Fred and George's arrival, if it was a benefit, was that she was at least no longer kissing him.

"Find out what they want and get rid of them. Can't you tell them you just got out of the bath or something?!" Severus demanded.

"Are you _**insane**_? They'll offer to come up and towel me off."

Severus ran a hand through Rolanda's spiky hair and admitted he had not been thinking.

Having known them long enough, she was able to decipher their antics. "They need me to meet them over at their shop. Something is up," the tone was unmistakable.

He leaned harder into the wall and tried very hard not to feel as if he was being tossed out in favor of the Weasely twins, tried very hard not to take the slight_. _After all, he _needed_ to leave anyway.

She walked him to the door and rubbed a hand up and down the arm of Rolanda's flying jacket. "I'm going to miss you," she said sadly.

And he wondered, in what he admitted was his sick little brain, if she would kiss him again or not. Would she kiss him standing there as Madam Hooch? He bet she would, he thought with a tiny smile, and he thought back on the impulsive way she could just launch herself at him at times.

"Be careful," he prompted her, reminding her of the significance of them standing there. But it would have to be her move. It was beyond him to use this body to kiss her, despite what he felt and what he thought he might want.

"Oh, Severus," she said. "God, I'm going to miss you," and as she rose up on her toes, another pebble pinged the window. He cursed. Another pebbled pinged and then two more. And finally Hermione sighed and in defeat just said, "Go, Severus. I love you. But just go. I'll be back as soon as I can." And she opened the door for him and ushered Madam Hooch's stiff form through the door. Wordlessly, Severus Disapparated from the landing.

///

A frustrated, angry and still-polyjuiced Severus Snape pushed through the Infirmary doors, intent on only receiving his antidote and dropping off the results of the exam so that he could sulk away his evening.

"You're late," Minerva called to him angrily.

"That's a lovely greeting," Severus fired back. He had Poppy and Minerva staring at him and the length of the Infirmary to cross. The Flying Instructor's short legs were complicating his desire to cover ground quickly.

It was then that he saw Rolanda Hooch step from behind a partition. Evidently, she had seen him leaving in her form and had sat up waiting to welcome him back.

"If you touched my tits, Snape....." she ground out with her hands on her hips.

"Technically, Hooch. They are _**my**_ tits. And..."

"Severus!" Poppy scolded, just as the man had raised a hand as if to touch himself.

"I apologize," he said, contritely enough that the Matron conceded to hand him the antidote. He stepped behind the partition and with exaggerated wrestlings he removed and then draped the flying instructor's clothes over the top. He emerged flushed looking, but otherwise restored to his previous self.

"Never, ever again, Minerva," Rolanda warned.

They were all silent as Hooch left, and then in time with the door swinging shut, Minerva turned on him. "Late, Severus? And then that last bit of tom foolery? Just brilliant!! I would have to say I anticipate repercussions. And not just from HER. If Albus finds out...." Minerva warned with distinct maternal disapproval. "I do hope you see the sense in not teasing her further."

Taking up a humorless smile, she spun on her heel to return to her quarters.

And he wanted to rage. It wasn't enough that he was being pulled 6 different ways. That a madman bent on destruction might kill him at their next meeting. That a madman bent on peace had sold his soul a dozen times over. That the pulse of his emotions seem to rest in the palm of a hormonal, pregnant teenager with delusions..... No. None of that was enough, obviously, for the gods' amusement. Minerva had to dress him down and leave him standing there feeling like a horribly wicked little boy caught nicking the vicar's Christmas money. He had wanted to rage, but it was a tired sigh that fell from him as he watched the doors swing closed.

It had been a long time since he had indulged in fisting his pockets and mindlessly staring at his shoes. And decades since Madam Pomfrey had gotten the opportunity to pat the tall man's reddened cheek.

And back then, she had never had the temerity to whisper, "She can be such a bitch... can't she, Severus?"

"You aren't going to offer me a sweet, are you, Poppy?" he said, trying to sound unaffected.

"God, no! Sit down, show me what you brought back, and I'll open a bottle of wine."

///


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: The net is tightening. Slowly. **

**These are some (hopefully, well-sketched) maternal moments... Some reconciliation and realizations.**

**Thanks Sel.**

///

"Come on, Hermione," George urged from the one side of her doorway. His face was so serious it stilled her forward progress for a moment.

Fred wrapped an arm around her from the other side and began to walk her down the sidewalk. "It's safe. There's no one about," he told her.

"But what's going on?" Hermione asked, intently.

George was a half step ahead of them now, and he looked over his shoulder to say, "We got an owl from 'the boys' and we can't make heads or tails of it. So, everyone is worried." She noticed then that his wand was out and that he was starting to get away from them. "Can you walk a little faster, Hermione? My mum and dad are there. And.... well, a little panicked."

As they walked, she did not so much process what he had said, as register it all emotionally. They had heard from Harry and Ron, but were obviously very worried about them.

Another thought echoed through her: she would be facing Molly Weasley tonight.

Ridiculous. Stupid. But it was not completely unforeseen that that news could cause her knees to weaken a bit. She knew she had gravely disappointed Molly and caused her undue heart ache. And whether it had been necessary or not, she still regretted having done it. Seeing her tonight was going to be hard and it was going to hurt. A lot.

George released the wards on the rear door of the shop and opened it with a fluidity that allowed them to walk through without breaking their stride.

There were tables and chairs in the center of room and work benches lined the walls. Boxes were stacked everywhere without any seeming order. The light was uneven and Hermione was not immediately sure who was there. Suddenly, her eyes lit on Molly, drawn by the sound of her pacing. And then that pacing stopped. The women regarded each other uneasily across the space, and it was Hermione who looked away first.

It was Molly's world and Molly's rules of what a good, smart witch should make of herself, that Hermione had seemingly shattered the hardest when she had wound up pregnant. Of the hundreds of confrontations that this fabrication would require, Hermione had been more wary of this one than almost any other.

As she took small steps for the center of the room, she realized that facing Molly pained her more than even eventually confronting her mum and dad. She had always dealt with her parents intellectually, even as a child. That was how she managed to show up at Hogwarts so self-assured, rather cold, and well, pushy.

When the time came to talk about this pregnancy, her parents might not agree with her decision, but knowing her, they would at least understand why she did it. She would tell them she had reasoned it out. It had been the best, most rational option to see the war ended. The only one at the time. She had balanced the risks with the benefits, and it had made sense....

But in moments like these when she faced the full emotional toll of this play, she realized her calculations may have been short sighted. Not wrong. Just incapable of weighing the hurt she would cause and feel.

Molly was a bright and perceptive witch. But when it came to family, Molly was all heart. Pure emotion. Love and passion and fury. And pain. Pain unfathomed by those who functioned more with their heads. She loved Hermione like family. And had had hopes and dreams for her just as she did for her own children. And those had been betrayed.

And Hermione knew, she was the betrayer.

The nervous movement in Molly began to leak away, and her eyes moved from the table where a letter lay to Hermione.

It was Arthur who quickly bridged the gap. Motioning Hermione to the table, he then held the chair for her. Then extending a hand, he drew Molly in. He was silently mindful that the women needed to come together under someone else's power.

"You've heard from Harry and Ron?" Hermione said, as if addressing the parchment on the tabletop. It felt like an act of cowardly self preservation, but she decided to jump straight to the point of the meeting and avoid, as best she could, the awkwardness.... and Molly's eyes.

"Yes," Arthur said, as he took up his seat, "but we do not know what to make of this letter,"

Hermione read the paper through once. Turned the page over. Cast 8 different diagnostic spells.

Molly nodded at her thoroughness. With an involuntary turn to her head, she admired the best that she saw in Hermione, as she always had. Studied her, and despite herself, the sadness, and her misgivings, she smiled. She relaxed seeing the familiar, studious crease to the young woman's brow, and the eager way she threw herself into any effort to help her friends.

"Get her something to drink, Arthur," Molly said, quietly. "She looks as if the twins brought her here at a run."

"Of course," Arthur said, and stood.

Those mother's hands felt the compunction to touch the child she had not seen in so long. And not wanting to stop herself, she raised the back of her hand to the young woman's cheek where it looked pink. "You're warm, dear. Take off that coat and scarf, won't you? The letter will wait." The words were softly said, but heavy. Seeming to want to say so much more. Or maybe Hermione just heard them that way.

"Mrs. Weasley...." Hermione said, trying to interrupt gently, as the elder witch's fingers pried at the wool around her neck.

"...Those boys should not have rushed you over like that. You're sweating....."

"Mrs. Weasely," she begged again, choking on her emotion. But she could not get the woman to listen.

"...and my hands can't manage the knot for some reason."

"Mrs. Weasely," Hermione whispered fiercely, as she physically stilled the woman's hands with her own. Finally, Hermione had her attention and after a ragged breath, the words burst out as a half cry, "I'm sorry, I know what you must think." And with those simple, aching words, the weight of a thousand expectations was let go. To fall. To break.

And the anxiety in the tone was unmistakeable to any parent – broadcasting a child's horrible fear that forgiveness might be impossible... That unconditional love stops here.

And Molly rubbed the girl's cheek and hushed her. But she would not lie to her, and Hermione was glad for that. Molly would not tell her, everything would be all right. Because there was no promising that. She just told her, "What's done is done." And that was enough.

With a scraping sound, Hermione's tea cup was pushed in front of her, and a second later Arthur's hand silently produced a handkerchief.

"We thought it might be a code that the three of you had worked out together," Arthur said, quietly.

"No, it isn't," Hermione said without hesitation.

"Still, you know them best," Molly admitted. "What do you make of it?"

"I don't like it. It sounds like they are a bit.... well, crazed. They aren't making sense."

"That's what we said," Fred put in. He stepped closer feeling the emotions had subsided enough that it was safe now.

"Tell us what you know, Hermione, so that we know where you are starting from," Arthur prompted.

"Yes. Alright." She stood up and took off her coat, draping it over the back of her chair, before she settled back down. "Horcruxes," Hermione announced. "They are out there trying to destroy Horcruxes."

George whistled appreciatively.

"And they seem to have gotten a hold of one that they cannot destroy," she continued, "that is well..."

"Making them bonkers?" Fred put in. "How can that be?"

"Very dark magic," Hermione explained. "_HIS_ dark magic."

"We know where they were last, and from the mention they make here in the letter about it being cold and wet, it seems they haven't moved far, if at all," Arthur said.

"So, we can find them," George concluded, sounding upbeat.

"Let us go out there, Dad," Fred said.

Molly immediately objected. George and Fred shouted their pleas in return.

Hermione waited, not wanting to interfere in what felt like a family discussion. But then she quickly launched herself into the melee. "Finding them is only half the problem," she explained. "The Horcrux needs to be destroyed. And not just anything will do that. I think you should send word to the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall."

She was afraid to say any more. Afraid to say, 'Snape is the obvious one for this job. Given Gryffndor's Sword, he'll be able to manage this with no problem.' She felt she was no longer at all objective. She wasn't sure she could discuss him and remain impassive.

"If you close this shop, boys, even for a day," Arthur said, "that would get you noticed. We don't need that. Hermione is right. I've got to go to Hogwarts. There is no doing this unless we can destroy what they've found."

Arthur walked for the side of the room where his belongings lay and his wife followed, quietly. While Molly handed Arthur his scarf, she thought about the meeting he would likely have with the Headmaster. She thought about who else would come to be involved. There were witches and wizards she understood better then others. People she trusted more than some, even though they were all in the Order. She didn't like that she was partial. And sometimes suspicious. But it seemed to be out of her control - like an emotional response.

She was happy for all the help she could get in rescuing Harry and Ron from the Horcrux's effects. But she would feel better if only it could be Albus going out there. Would prefer to know that someone with Remus' heart and love for the boys was undertaking this job, rather than someone who was dark and unfathomable to her.

"Who do you think Minerva and Albus will send?" she asked, not wanting the answer.

"I don't know. Snape. If we trust him this week," he whispered, as he pulled on his coat.

"That's not at all funny or reassuring, Arthur," she told him.

And she wondered why she had bothered to ask who they would send. The answer had come to her as soon as they had decided to go to Hogwarts for help. She knew who it would be, and she would have to wonder now, _do we trust Snape this week?_

And why, when he is so cold and unknowable?

Arthur kissed her cheek and then headed for the door. As he passed Hermione, she told him, "I'm sure they know, Mr. Weasely, but I believe whomever they send will need the Sword of Gryffindor."

"Yes, I agree," Arthur said.

////

Poppy unpacked the medical exam bag while she spoke to him. He recaptured his composure, reminding himself that this was not Minerva, and that the Matron had no idea that there was anything at all between him and Hermione.

He was careful to refer to her as 'Miss Granger.' His language was brisk and unadorned. He remained unemotional, easily affecting his usual, bored demeanor.

What he forgot to do, however, was _**complain**_.

He had just been polyjuiced, sent to London, forced to examine a female former student. He had described the entire procedure and answered Madam Pomprey's every question.... and never once had he complained, about the inconvenience, the impropriety, the ridiculousness of it, anything ..... Many people would not have noticed the difference in him or simply would have been glad of it.

Not Poppy.

"Severus," the Matron said carefully, as she walked on his arm to the door. "I worry for a great many people. It is part of the job, I suppose. And I would be remiss if I did not notice a change in you."

"You are mistaken..." he tried, feebly. He felt himself tense then while he waited to see how badly he had betrayed himself.

"I mean only to reassure you about Miss Granger, it is quite the natural thing that you might not feel... yourself around her...."

He groaned and rolled his eyes like a child being lectured. And inwardly, he damned himself for being so transparent. He tried to wrestle his arm from the well-meaning old witch, as her words continued to pelt him, "Nature _**intends**_ it, is what I am trying to say, Severus."

"Does nature intend that I must be assailed by every woman in this castle over the course of my pitiful life?" he demanded, as he backed into the wall.

"Have you been sent to watch over Miss Granger these months? Have Albus and Minerva placed you as her guardian, perhaps? And now you have begun to feel something..."

He laughed harshly, and she stopped trying to approach him for the moment. "Her guardian? Dear, sweet Poppy.... You always see such good," he said, with obvious distress.

She stilled him with a careful hand to his arm. "The father has abandoned them, that is what we all hear. And being set the task of caring for a woman who is expecting... one who does not have a man at hand.... could make you wish... "

"I am an errand boy, nothing more."

"Oh, Severus," the Matron said accusingly. "You are a _**man**_. Or you were once." She released him then and backed away sadly.

He felt oddly frozen there even after she had let go of him. He was stuck there with his self-recriminations ringing in his brain and her footsteps beating out time across the tile.

///


	31. Chapter 31

A/N: I like this one. I _**really**_ hope you guys like this one, too. I know it's missing about 30 commas, but after reading this over 8 times, I can't tell what else it needs any more!

Thanks, Sel.

* * *

"Minerva?" Severus groaned in reply to the late-night Floo call. "Christ, it's been a long day. Do you think maybe you could pummel me some more tomorrow? I was in bed."

"Arthur Weasley's in the Headmaster's Office," she said, in nothing less than her Brigadier's voice. "He has some information on the hunt .... some things _**Hermione**_ has been involved with today."

That last bit was unnecessary, and the old witch damn well knew it.

"Minerva," he ground out with agitation.

"I'm headed there now, you'll meet us in Albus' office?" she asked. Not that it was a question.

"One minute is all I need," he said, sadly.

There were only the four of them in the office: Albus, Severus, Minerva and Arthur.

"It seems Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley have found the locket," Albus began.

Arthur detailed the rest of the story, telling of the letter and Hermione's conclusions that led him to come to the Headmaster.

"I've marked on this map where I think they are," Arthur said. His words fell off expectantly, as he wondered what else there was to say. Severus took a step forward wordlessly to look at the map that lay open on the Headmaster's desk. With a tired sigh, he shook his head, but he bit back on the words he ached to say.

"Severus, there is no one else... " Albus began.

"Don't explain," Severus begged. With a noise of annoyance, he strode behind the desk to pull the sword from its place.

"Alastor could go with you," Minerva offered, quietly.

Hadn't this witch just brow beaten him a mere 3 hours earlier? he thought as he eyeballed her. Dangled Hermione's name out there to get him to march along quicker to this damn meeting? And now she wanted to talk nice because he was the poor, stupid sod getting his ass sent out into the cold? Well, it was all too much for him. His meager patience was spent.

"The idiot boys are in a _**marsh**_, Minerva," he told her too loudly. "I know the Tin Man's little asymmetrical oddities do not slow you down, but I will not spend the night levitating your lopsided boyfriend out of a marsh just so _**you**_ can feel better. What if we forgot the oil?! What good would he be to you then?"

"Severus!" Minerva exclaimed, as her cheeks reddened. "The only heartless Tin Man here is you, obviously."

"Please!" was all the paternal Albus need prompt.

There was deadly silence. Severus put a hand to his forehead and winced painfully, as if surprised by the venom in his own statement. Arthur, no stranger to such vitriol, heaved a sigh of relief that for once the combatants were not family.

The Potions Master was immediately ashamed that he had let his temper get away from him. He could be an ass, but his attacks were rarely so personal and rarely addressed at Minerva.

"I'm sorry, Minerva," Severus said in a clipped voice, as he continued to move for the door.

"Snape," Arthur then said, as he fell in to follow Severus.

"Might we just let him _**go**_?" Dumbledore insisted.

"Severus," Arthur called, as he chased the man down the stairs. "Let me come with you."

Minerva had followed and stood at the top of the stairs now watching the pair.

Severus turned and caught the woman's scathing eyes. After what he had said to embarrass Minerva, he knew it would be too much to be the usual prat to Arthur now.

"Molly doesn't need the extra worry, Arthur. So, go home. But look on the bright side," Severus said with withering sarcasm. "I am sure that by the time the war is over, it will have taken its fair share out of both of us."

"But he's my son," Arthur objected.

Severus looked passed Arthur to Minerva then as he voiced his practiced part. "Exactly. There is a reason the Headmaster sends me... I have nothing, and I'm risking nothing. There is no one to miss _**me**_ one way or the other." And Minerva tightened her grasp on the railing at his lie.

Severus ran down the final stairs and was gone from sight as quickly as he could manage.

///

Still, Severus thought as he walked the halls with the sword on his shoulder, he _**should**_ take someone with him. Arthur was right. It was foolish to go into this or any action alone.

Minerva would have been a good choice in her prime. Hell, even now. But trying to involve her, risked involving Alastor. Even if he was willing to do that, something told him, _**tomorrow**_ might be a better day to have any sort of conversation with the head of Gryffindor. He took a few enjoyable swipes with the sword as he passed a suit of armor. The sword play seemed to spur on his thinking and at the very least improved his mood.

_Flitwick?_ he thought. This wasn't charms work. Nor open competition-style dueling. And God knows how much better the half-filled boots of Filius would fair compared to the uneven ones of Moody where he was going. So, Filius was the wrong man for this.

_Pomfrey? Sprout?_ Good capable witches, but not the kind you dragged out into the mud. They were the sort you came home to, the ones who fixed you up and offered you a large comforting bosom to rest your head on. Okay, that last bit had never happened to _**him**_, he thought with a sick little smile and a flick of the sword, but if it hadn't at least happen to _**somebody**_, it was a waste of some incredible Hogwarts real estate.

He needed someone who didn't mind getting cold, wet, and dirty. A quick wand who didn't mind breaking a few bones, no matter whose. And a fast hand on a broom would come in handy. He stopped then realizing he needed the corridor he had just passed.

Professor Binns had been trailing him and finally spoke when he saw that Snape had stopped walking.

"You are set on your action then?" Binns asked.

"Hmm? Ah. Binns!" Severus said, fixing his eyes on the shadowy figure now in front of him. "Yes. I know what to do. Now, if I may ask. Is it true you have been some help to Miss Granger in unraveling these and other mysteries?"

"Miss.... Granger?"

"Frizzy headed sort who is far too eager. Gryffindor? The former Head Girl for God's sake."

"Yes. I have been tutoring such a student by correspondence. The Headmaster suggested it. Professor Dumbledore said she had developed a temporary medical something or other."

"No matter. Has Minerva set you to spy on me?" Severus suddenly asked.

"I would not _**spy**_ on a fellow professor," he told Severus, quite plainly.

"No?"

"I am to provide a modicum of information..." he equivocated, as Severus began to play with the sword again. "Merely letting the Headmaster and the Deputy Headmistress know when you have left the castle. We are being observed," Binns suddenly exclaimed.

The tapestry 20 yards off had begun to move. The pair behind it might have escaped detection if Luna Lovegood had not worked so hard to get a good look at Professor Snape's handling of Gryffindor's Sword.

"Miss Lovegood?" Severus called out upon recognizing her. "Twenty-five points from Ravenclaw for being out after curfew. Please produce your companion." It was then that Neville reluctantly and with some effort pushed himself loose of the heavy tapestry.

"Ah. Wonderful. Mr Longbottom and Miss Lovegood. What are you doing out after curfew?" Severus asked.

"Training, sir," Neville said, with only minor trepidation.

Binns harumphed, but Snape paid him no mind.

"Impressive," he told the Seventh-year.

"Yes, sir?" Neville asked, warily.

"Yes. Most impressive that you can now _**lie**_ so quickly in the service of the cause. Twenty-five points from Gryffindor for being out after curfew. Both of you will write me a 2 foot parchment on how your actions, EACH of your actions since curfew," he said, enjoying the perverse notion, "will aid Dumbledore's Army in the course of victory, and you will evade detention."

With that Severus began to step away.

"But, sir?" Luna called, seemingly drawn to following him or the impressive weapon.

"Ah. Ha. As I suspected. You, Miss Lovegood, have the opposite problem from Mr. Longbottom. IF your actions tonight pertain to a physical relationship and you are completely unable to LIE, Miss Lovegood, I grant you leave to make up something to write in your parchment... for MY sake."

"Yes, sir." she said, seeming oddly satisfied with her punishment.

"Since you fancy yourselves soldiers, we will now test your physical fitness. You will lose another 25 points if you are not in your dormitories in 3 minutes. Starting now!"

The pair jogged away. Snape rested the sword back on his shoulder and prepared to step off. Now that they were finally alone again, however, Binns felt free to question Severus. "You don't feel that was a mite irregular, your handling of those students?" the ghost asked.

"I believe it is this weapon. There is something about it which alters one's thinking. I had better get tonight over with and hand it back over to the Headmaster. I am becoming as arrogant and sanctimonious as any _**Gryffndor**_ I've ever known."

The Ravenclaw ghost tittered in unmanly fashion.

///

Neville decided to take the penalty for failing to go directly to his dormitory so that he might report to Professor McGonagall that a sword-bearing and rather drunken-acting Snape was on the loose. The poor, old witch thanked him, but did not seem at all grateful, in truth.

Later, Neville lay in his bed going over the occurrences of the long, strange evening. He had seen Luna's reaction to Professor Snape when he was slashing about, and Neville was still trying to come to grips with it.

Just minutes after he had gotten up the courage to kiss Luna behind the tapestry, he had felt his toes curl in response to the touch of their tongues, and he had heard her sigh (with what he had thought was satisfaction). And then he had been forced to witness her tripping over herself to get a better look at that dark wizard... _**just**_ because he had a flashy bit of metal with him!

A sword obviously had its uses. And he would get his hands on one soon, or his name was not: Neville Adrastos Longbottom.

///

Finally, Severus was outside the right quarters. _Here's hoping_ _she is no longer QUITE so angry,_ he thought. He banged on the door with the hilt of the sword, feeling the testosterone flow through him.

He liked Hooch. And they got on well enough most times. They were both Slytherian. That did not hurt. And since her tastes ran to women, there was none of the typical unease he felt being around single women. As she was under 60, she, thankfully, did not feel the need to mother him.

She might even let him Obliviate her when tonight was done. Not that he didn't trust her, they had a good history.

...

It must have been 3 years ago that Dumbledore had sent her out after him. When he realized who was rolling him over, he nearly thanked God. The last thing his ego had needed was some man there dusting him off and acting superior about it. The second last thing would have been been some maternal female coo'ing over him.

Hooch just picked him up, poured some pepper-up down his throat, pointed out the best bush for relieving oneself, and told him she had looked worse at the end of any given game day.

"_You're all right, Hooch," he had said, as he struggled to keep his feet. "Hell, If I had a sister.... I'd let you date her." _

Rolanda had laughed at that. She moved in closer to him so he could put a hand on her shoulder and avoid falling over.

"_Sev," she then said, purposely sounding overly chummy. "I **have** sisters. So, let's just say, I'd let you come by for dinner. ..... when they were out. Now how about we get you on the broom?" _

_Once they had managed that feat, and he had his arms wrapped around her and his chin near her ear, he told her, "I've been thinking, Hooch, if I had a brother..... he could be you." _

And Rolanda had laughed so hard at that, she had needed to press a hand to her side to ease the pain.

"_Thank God you didn't say that when we were flying, Snape. That could have been messy," she laughed. "Now hold on and shut up."_

...

He smiled a touch thinking about how quickly her moods could change. If nothing else that gave him hope that she wouldn't just slam the door in his face tonight. He rapped on the door again and then crossed his arms over his chest, allowing the folds of his robe to hide the blade.

"It's the middle of the night, Snape," a sleepy-looking Rolanda Hooch accused.

"Right. So, as you are not busy...." he teased.

"Prat," she said, as she eyeballed him. "Just tell me what you are up to. What do you need?"

He began to move the sword then so his robes bulged.

She smiled at him as he allowed the blade to peek up from beneath his robes.

"Ooo, it looks like somebody has nicked the Headmaster's shiniest toy. This is going to be good," she told him appreciatively, as she leaned against her door jamb.

"As things went rather badly earlier," he said. "I thought you might like a night out with me and my large ... sword to make up for it," he said, wickedly.

"Oh, my, professor," she squealed, as she began to feign fanning herself. "What are you going to do with that?" Her voice came out an octave too high.

"Easy stuff, really. Scaring some boys. Smashing jewelry. You'll need your fastest broom, your best tricks, and your wand of course, Hooch. But leave the dress robes at home. We are going to get dirty."

She laughed and motioned for him to follow her into her rooms to wait for her to get ready.

///

They landed in the driest spot they could find and began to look around. "They are out here somewhere in a tent, but it's likely charmed so we can't see it," Severus whispered.

"Why are you whispering?"

"We need to do this with out attracting the attention of the Death Eaters who are out hunting for the two idiot boys. And preferably without the notice of the idiot boys themselves."

She grabbed Severus by the front of his coat and pulled him down with her into a crouch. "You left the Death Eaters out of the little mission briefing, Snape. Let's stop being such a big target, shall we? And how about a little camouflage?"

"No continuous spells. No Disillusionments....." Severus was explaining.

With a quick wave of her wand she had turned her clothing and Severus's gray-white to better match the birches and snowy marshland. Severus groaned at the sight. "Please tell me you are done."

"Yes, stop whining. Now how the hell are you going to do everything without Potter and Weasley noticing if they are wearing this thing you need to destroy?" Hooch asked incredulously, her voice getting louder.

"First, we find them. Then we separate them. Then we worry about that last bit. But since they are out of their heads, hungry, and sleep deprived, perhaps they will think you are a visiting elf," he spat.

"Yes, and you are their fairy god mother," she shot back. "How about I magic you some fucking sparkly wings, Snape? I am just loving this plan so far."

Snape gave her a deadly glare but wouldn't tell her off. It was going to be a long night, Rolanda decided as she pulled a blanket out of her rucksack.

"So, they are here somewhere, we just can't see them," Hooch sighed.

"It will be morning soon. Hopefully, Potter will need to piss and get up out of the tent. Hopefully, we will notice something then. And I'll send out my Patronus," he reluctantly said.

Rolanda waited and thought hard about what Snape had said. And finally she couldn't take it any more. It made no sense. "Look, I know I'm just the moronic flying instructor, so explain this to me? What the hell good will sending out your Patronus do?"

"Well, I didn't want to tell anyone," Snape said testily, "but my Patronus is a fluffy, white bunny and I happen to know that Potter just LOVES fluffy, white bunnies. Hooch, wouldn't you follow a Patronus if you saw one after 4 weeks out here with no one but Weasley to talk to?"

"There!" Rolanda whispered. And although he could not yet see what she was trying to show him, he patted her on the shoulder, glad he had brought her. Her eyes were far better than his at picking things up. He relaxed his eyes trying not to work too hard to see it. And finally, he caught it. He watched the rippling up ahead and knew it must be one of the boys exiting the disguised tent. He might have missed it if not for Rolanda.

"The one is out of the tent. I think it is Potter. Something about the way that blur is moving. And the shape of it. Can you hear him moving our way?" Rolanda asked.

Severus nodded.

"Weasely seems to be rolling around in the tent a bit," she then told him.

Severus sent out his Patronus and the blur froze, shivered, and then revealed itself to be Harry Potter as the Invisibility Cloak dropped to the ground.

"Poor guy is out of it," Rolanda said. "He doesn't even care that it isn't a bunny."

"Shut up," Snape said weakly over his shoulder. He directed the Doe Patronus off away from the tent then.

"I'll follow him," Rolanda said, as she got to her feet. "I have some chocolates I can give him. I'll put a tiny bit of sleeping draught from the first aid kit on a piece. If he eats it, he'll be out for a half hour maybe."

"And how will you convince him to eat poisoned chocolates, Rolanda? Do you have Evil Step-Mother Training?" Severus asked drolly.

"I'm going to tell him I'm his fairy god mother," she said. While Severus eyed her, she altered her hair, making it purple and glittery. She turned her flying jacket into a flowing dress and added wings to the back. And with the box of chocolates under her arm, she loped off after Potter who was stumbling after the Patronus like a drunkard.

Snape decided a glamor couldn't hurt and quickly changed his appearance to the near reflexive one he had taken that day with Hermione. Then, hefting the sword, he marched toward the tent by following the trampled path Potter had made and the noises coming from Weasley.

Frustrated when he could not seem to find the invisible tent's opening, Snape hollered out, "Open the damn tent, Weasley."

"Who- who is it?" Ron stammered.

"It's your conscience. Open up and I'll have Potter bring you back some chocolate."

The tent flap swung open and Snape was greeted by the smell of sweat and dirty socks. Even a glassy-eyed and near-insensible Ron was frightened by the prospect of his conscience being so well armed. He scrambled backwards, forcing Snape to crawl into the tent after him.

"I should have known you would make this difficult," Snape sighed.

///

An hour later Ron began to wake up from a nightmare. And thrashing about and feeling the need to escape, he launched himself from the tent. He grabbed at his neck and let out a scream, all before he realized what he had done.

Seeing Ron, Harry picked himself up from where he had been sitting between a set of birches feeling confused and disoriented. He slowly walked the 50 yards back to the tent. He rubbed his head as he did, slowly recovering his senses.

"The locket is gone," Ron yelled in a panic. "I had this horrible dream. The necklace had called Snape here. He was trying to strangle me, to kill me. He wanted Hermione all to himself."

"Ron! Shut up!" Harry said, as he began looking for the necklace. He leaned into the tent and grabbed the blankets and then shook them out. There on the ground were broken pieces of chain and beside them, the locket. But as Harry picked it up, it fell into pieces. "Ron," he said, strangely subdued. "I found the necklace." Turning, he showed the pieces to Ron.

"Is it destroyed then?" Ron asked.

"I don't feel anything when I hold it. Its power is gone," Harry said, feeling temporarily more confused than happy. And then as he thought about it, a rakish grin begin to spread over his face.

Free of the Horcrux, Ron's personality quickly righted itself. "Harry, tell me that isn't chocolate on your face...." he said, sadly.

"Um, I'm not sure how..... _**real**_ any of it is, but I thought I saw my mother's Patronus when I came out of the tent this morning. And when I followed it out there I must have fallen asleep or something because I dreamt about a purple elf. Well, she said she was my fairy god mother. In this dream, she danced around, gave me some chocolate, and told me to take a nap. When I woke up, I found a rucksack with some food, a first aid kit, and clean socks in it," Harry said as he mopped up the mess on his face with his fingers.

"Christ, Harry! You get visited by a chocolate-bearing elf and I get attacked in the tent by a white-washed Ghost of Christmas Snape. How freaking fair is that?!"

"I saved you some chocolate," Harry tried.

///

They had transfigured the chairs into beds. Even Hermione had insisted on staying at the workshop over night hoping to hear news on Harry and Ron.

It was just after their makeshift breakfast that an owl poked its head through the specially made hole near the ceiling of the workshop. It then swooped down, laying a lumpy letter on the table. Arthur unwrapped it, and as he unfolded the paper his eyes were wide.. A slip of chain slid from the paper and Arthur, with his mouth still gaping, picked it up.

"What does it say?" Hermione demanded, excitedly.

"Done," Arthur said in a bemused voice. "Just that one word," he told them, holding up the parchment. "The word 'Done.'"

The twins hooted and Arthur smiled broadly. Fred then grabbed up the parchment, while George excitedly examined the chain.

But Molly, after sighing her initial relief, watched Hermione.

Hermione smiled into her raised hands and then she hugged herself and walked from the center of the room, as if needing to be alone. There in the half shadows away from everyone else, she was happily lost in her thoughts. Harry and Ron were safe. And Severus had done it. And he had gotten himself out safely, too.

Molly watched her and tugged on Arthur's coat. With a nod of her head, she indicated Hermione.

Arthur didn't understand what his wife might want, but leaned in close to listen. "Look at her. And tell me... since when does Severus advertise what he has done?" she asked.

"Well, he knew I was worried...." Arthur said.

"All of us would do well to never forget that that man has TWO masters. And beyond that serves himself. Dumbledore may trust him to fight his war. And we may have needed him last night, but...

"But _**what**_, Molly?"

"There is a blackness to him. It's not his fault in so many ways, but it is not the sort of thing he'll ever be rid of ..."

"Molly, none of that. Not after last night," Arthur objected.

"He might try to do good, but he remains who he is. And _**she**_ shouldn't be thinking of him... like THAT."

Catching her meaning, Arthur's eyes widened, and he stole a quick glance at Hermione. "You are over reacting," he told his wife. "This is your imagination."

"Am I? Look at her again and tell me that. Did you see her when that letter came in and she realized who it was from? The girl is infatuated with a very dangerous man. Worse, _**he**_ is playing to it with that letter. The more I know, the less I like, Arthur." She took a few steps trying to think, trying to remember everything that Arthur had told her about the conversation he had had with Hermione. And suddenly, the thoughts came with frightening clarity.

"She told you someone was helping her," Molly whispered, urgently.

"Yes, but I didn't get the impression it was the father or even a man. More like a benefactor. I thought she might mean someone like Minerva," Arthur said.

"No," Molly insisted, "that _**someone**_ got her that job in that awful bookshop. Minerva never would have put her there. And Hermione told you there were dangerous people interested in keeping the man she was photographed with out of the paper. Not just Dumbledore. Oh, God. We've been so blind," Molly said, as a shiver passed through her. "Get a hold of Bill. We are getting her out of here as soon as we can. Today, if possible. We agreed we would help her. And for now, getting her away from that man is the best help we can provide."

* * *

A/N: Honk if you love Hooch. I know I do.

Adrastos: Yes, apparently Neville is part Greek. I did not realize this until recently, either.


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: My thanks to Selmak (you may want to thank her, too) who reminded me that there is a rule requiring frequent sex scenes that I was forgetting.**

* * *

"Is this going to be awkward, Bill?" Hermione asked, as they packed side by side in the store room. "I don't want our traveling together to cause any problems with Fleur."

"I have no idea how _awkward _it will be," the red head said with a little smile. "But as long as I write often enough and ask about the wedding plans, everything should be all right. _**But,**_ is there anyone on your end I should be aware of?" he said looking at her belly. "Is there a jealous sort out there?"

"Is this part of the concerted Weasley effort to get information?" Hermione demanded. "Your mother has asked me the same question 5 different ways tonight."

"No. I'm just the cautious type," he told her, amiably.

"Well, seriously then, Bill. There are no worries on that score." And Hermione smiled at him as if she didn't have a care in the world. Willing herself to be that simple, unattached woman Bill needed her to be, instead of the woman whose mind dwelled hopelessly on an absent lover.

When Hermione raised her head from her quiet conference with the eldest Weasley child, she saw his mother was closely watching them. Molly approached them, seeing their conversation had died off. Bill laughed a bit, "Mum, no more sandwiches or mittens. Even with Reducing them, we can't pack another thing."

"Oh, don't tease me, William! I know you've got room in that pack for cookies," his mother replied.

"Well, obviously, there is always room for cookies," Bill said, and he reopened the top of his bag.

Hermione laughed to herself and continued to Reduce and add books to her pack.

"You'll over do it, Hermione," she heard the older witch say over her shoulder. "You'll carry too much. Study too hard - even out of school, won't you." There was something in her voice that made it not so much a teasing question, the way it might have been in earlier times. Molly was making a sad statement of fact. "Well, Bill is to see that you get enough sleep. And I want the two of you back here in two weeks," Molly said firmly. "Thank goodness the Goblins down at Gringott's have loaned you the owl so we can keep in touch better. He is a fine looking long-distance owl, that Goldie."

"Mum, they only lent me the owl to keep me on a short leash," Bill told her. "Believe me. They don't want me where they can't get a hold of me for very long. I wouldn't be surprised if they sent me reports to go over," Bill grumbled lightly. But he wasn't really complaining. He took things easily in stride, Hermione happily noted. He was going to be a good companion.

///

The uniformly clad men knelt in Malfoy's manor. These lieutenants formed a quiet half circle about the seething man. None had seen him grip Bella the way he did now. And Severus knew before all the others could glean meaning from his words, what it was that angered him. A Horcrux had been destroyed and he was desperate to ensure the others were safe.

Some of those arranged before him wished themselves invisible. Some feigned an unperturbed nature. And there were a few tremors at the unfamiliar sight of Bella dangling from his arm.

She gave herself over limp. Her head slack and held to the side, she assured him in measured tones that sounded remarkably unafraid. "I have safeguarded it, my Lord. With all my power the... _**place**_ it lies is secured with all my efforts, all my magic. I checked myself, just yesterday. I strengthened all its wards."

He dropped her then so she could lie like a panting dog at his feet.

"No matter," he said. "They cannot win." He moved then for the men. "Malfoy, assemble what team you will, and I will give you your target. Jarrow, the same goes for you. Come to me tomorrow and you will be told where and when you will strike."

Those two wizards shouted out "Yes, my Lord," and bowed before exiting the chamber.

"Snape," Voldemort then demanded, and the long fingers invited him closer. Severus lowered himself to his knees and averted his gaze. "My Lord?" he offered up, reflexively. As Severus knelt there, the Dark Lord dismissed the others behind him with a hurried motion, so that the two would be alone.

"What you have brewed for me in the past is insufficient," the Dark Lord began. "I _**need**_ to be more efficient. I need to know I have all that I can get from this brain, from this body," he said, his pale hands clenching and unclenching.

"But the side effects, my Lord....." Severus warned needlessly, knowing nothing would keep the near-man from wanting more.

"The side effects are my concern. You will brew here. Report to me here. You will be on call to me... _**here,**_" he stressed.

"Am I to send any word to Hogwarts, my Lord?"

The beastly man laughed. "No. When their little world starts to come crumbling down these next two weeks, that will let them know who you have been standing with. And when you return.... and Dumbledore is powerless to remove you, they can tremble in their beds knowing my lieutenant freely walks the halls of Hogwarts.

"Yes, my Lord," and Severus gave the Dark Lord a half smile. Just that small bit to show him the satisfaction he _**should**_ get from this coming turn of events. From finally taking the fight hard to the Order and bloodying Dumbledore's nose directly.

Voldemort leaned a touch closer, pleased.

"You understand, don't you? They think they have achieved a victory. But now they will see what the next chapter holds. Because now WE strike. And we are not children. We are not guided by the addled and the weak. And _**we**_ will strike hard."

"Yes, my Lord," he echoed again, letting more pleasure show on his face.

"Now get up, Severus. And begin your work on those potions. Finish quickly. I have more, much more for you to do," the Dark Lord said intently.

Rarely, had he been required to brew here at Malfoy's under a lock down. But there was an adequate laboratory, stocked and, importantly, warded in the basement. Most importantly, it held one means of egress no others knew of.

He pulled away the hidden latch on the store cupboard and climbed the ladder behind it. It was 20 feet to the rear of the manor through an unused service chute. Once to the tree line beyond he would be passed the wards that prevented Apparition. There was no telling how long he had until he was missed.

He took off at a dead run for the trees. From there, he Apparated with his pulse ringing in his ears. And then he ran from the gates of Hogwarts toward the headmaster's office. His boots skidded on the smooth stones as he pulled on the railing to round it and take the stairs. His surroundings seem to slide past him, he was so intent on accomplishing this quickly. He did not register the exertion, only the internal clock that ticked off his time away. He issued the passwords while walking briskly, he leaned anxiously into the Headmaster's door, not waiting for the old man to answer. And he strode through the office for the quarters beyond.

He knew what would likely take him the longest, the time spent trying to rouse the weakened, old man. His racket had been enough to wake Fawkes, and he cursed the phoenix now who circled him as he continued to call out for Albus.

"God, what a trusting soul," Severus moaned when the wards to Dumbledore's bedroom yielded to his wand. "Albus," he hissed across the darkness. "Get up. I have information, and then I must return to him." Manic, Severus could not stop moving. He stepped to the fireplace and dashed the powder in, to call out for Minerva. Then he paced back to Albus, trying to wake the man with his urging.

He turned back, and walked again to the Floo.

"Minerva! I am in the Headmaster's quarters. I need you here now!"

The headmaster began to stir, and Severus moved back to the bed. And as Albus reached out and grabbed, floundering for Severus, the dark man finally stilled. "Help me sit up," came the small voice.

In her nightgown with her hair running down her back, Minerva walked for the four poster. She was a bit taken aback by the scene. Albus, frail in his nightshirt, was sitting on the edge of the bed. Severus knelt in front of him so that he could meet the stooped man's eyes.

"Where have you been, Severus? Are you all right?" Minerva asked, gently. The darkness of the room and the lateness of the hour had her whispering.

"At Lucius Malfoy's, the Dark Lord has called a group together. I am not to leave him. He has set me to brewing, and then has a new task for me that he has not revealed. But I am here because of what I heard him say to Bella LeStrange today." His eyes shifted to meet Albus', and he continued. "He was furious, obviously over the destruction of the locket Horcrux, and he was demanding an assurance from her that something he has entrusted her with is safe. She said it is well protected. But gave no clues to where she has placed it, other than saying she checked on it yesterday and strengthened all the wards on it then," he said.

"Thank you, Severus. It does help to know that it is Bella who has been entrusted with one of the Horcruxes." The Headmaster sighed. "There are so many though and so little time."

"Yes," Severus agreed, uneasily. "Also, he has two teams under Malfoy and Jarrow that will be given some sort of mission. But I have no idea what sort of attack it is they are planning. Only that it is to be within the next two weeks, and that I am to stay at the manor until these events have changed some balance in power."

"Will he attack the castle, Albus?" Minerva asked.

"No. Not yet. Not directly," Dumbledore said, slowly. "He will make some sort of play for control, however. There are people who will need to be protected. We will notify Kingsley. We will send Alastor down to London." The old man laughed a touch then. "Frankly, Minerva it is either that or charge the man rent." Severus snorted, happy to hear Albus show some of his former self.

"Yes, in the morning, Albus," his deputy prompted.

"I need to return before my absence is discovered, Headmaster," Severus said, as he stood.

As he rose the fabric of his sleeve passed feebly through the old man's fingers. Albus watched his hands as if they belonged to someone else. He sighed as if he regretted losing touch with the younger man. As is if he knew he was losing control of a future others would have to steer.

Severus looked at Minerva and knew they both felt the weight of it, the reality of Dumbledore's worsening condition. Once to the door, Severus stopped to gaze back, and was involuntarily held by what he saw. Minerva was tucking the old wizard back into bed as if he was a young charge.

"So you have no idea when you are coming back? I don't like this," Minerva said, as she near ran to catch up with him.

"This is all very new," Severus said, quickly while he walked for the castle exit. "Everything has changed, Minerva. It is not just the Horcruxes. It is whatever he has set Malfoy and Jarrow to. It is a new phase and he wishes to keep me near him until he can return me here after the strike that is coming. He stressed that when I return everyone will know I am his lieutenant walking these halls. And that you will all be unable to do anything about it. That is the change he expects, and he seems to expect it soon."

He hesitated. He did not want to ask the old witch about Hermione yet again. But yielded his pride.

"Is Hermione safely away then?" he asked. "And did you find someone competent to go with her?"

"Yes," Minerva said, simply.

It was an odd feeling that hit Severus in the stomach then. That dull ache at knowing she was gone and unreachable. There was the want, yes. A physical longing to touch and hold what he had grown used to. To indulge in what soothed and sated him.

But he was not a good or simple man. No Arthur Weasley, he thought with derision he aimed at himself. He knew that what he felt in the clenching of his jaw was selfishness. He was angry that she was suddenly, truly unavailable to him. And he chastised himself then, seeing it all for what it was. Self-pity and possessiveness. The demanding, willful, hopeful child in him wanted her to be that buoy. That bit among the wreckage that kept his head afloat. He would use her, if she let him. Take his comfort and his pleasure, while he drown her.

And she _**would**_ let him, fool girl that she was. She would let him drag her down.

He looked up to see that Minerva was matching strides with him and watching his face. "She'll be fine," the old witch said, trying to ease the fears she thought she saw in him. "If anything she is safer where she is now."

"Indeed," he spat. "I was thinking the same thing. The further from me she is..."

"Be careful, Severus," she told him with worry plain in her voice.

"Stay on guard, Minerva. I don't know what is coming," he said, from the castle door. "Just that it _**is**_ coming and that the thought of it makes _**him**_ very happy."

And he turned and ran for the gates. He opened his long stride and ran like he was on fire. Freed his mind of demons. Out ran his fears. Emptied his heart of lovers.

His brain. His pulse. His body took sweet solace in becoming a machine. That bit of gears Albus had wound up.

The slick automaton the Dark Lord had constructed.

That clock that told him an hour had ticked away since he'd been gone.

///

A single lamp awaited Minerva in her bedroom when she returned. "Was it Severus?" Alastor asked, as he held the blanket to welcome her back into the bed.

"Yes, all he knows of Voldemort's coming plans is that two teams are being sent out soon with targets. Albus says they will not attack the castle directly. So, he wants you to go to London and work with Kingsley," She pulled into his embrace then. "You would need to go first thing tomorrow. Albus will tell you who he thinks needs to be protected most."

"Aye. And it will either be more people than we can protect with our numbers or people who refuse our protection."

And only Alastor Moody could say those words, have that sharp and sarcastic discussion of tactics, while his hand slipped the elastic of her pants and his breath warmed her neck.

She felt herself involuntarily opening her legs to him, when she suddenly tensed and recalled Kinglsey. "Could you stop, Alastor, I am trying to think."

"I am not asking you to stop thinking," he crooned, as he tugged her nightgown open. "And this helps my mind work, I'll have you know."

"And how did you get through school then, Alastor Moody, if you think best with your hands in a woman's knickers?"

"Oh, girl, I barely got through school. I did explain to the Headmaster that it would help my grades if only I could have a girl assigned to me... for co-ed, naked tutoring, but he refused my suggestions."

"Devil!" She tugged him away from his nuzzling of her breasts. "You did nothing of the sort."

"Well," he said, as he pressed his hand firmly to her center, "I'm _**about**_ to go ask THIS headmaster....

Minerva groaned and her head pitched back before she managed to tell him, "He _**knows,**_ Alastor. I swear the whole school knows you are in my knickers."

"And?"

"And shamefully, I may be past caring," she told him.

"And?" he prompted, as she squirmed for him.

"I admit it," she gasped. "I like it."

"Then I am exactly where I need to be," he said, as he stroked her further. And then deeper.

"Oh, God, I can't think when you do this," Minerva moaned.

"Truth be told," he whispered. "Neither can I."

///

The young pair traveled by combined magical and Muggle means, finally reaching the train station in Västergötland, Sweden in the afternoon of the following day. Having been tutored during the long journey on the history of that place, its people and kings, its geography and legends, Bill was eager to get out and actually see or do ANYTHING once they arrived.

It wasn't hard to find the village church that Hermione had marked on her maps. It was ancient stone set in a sea of weathered, crooked grave markers. It stood just east of the barrow, which itself was hard to miss being 7 meters high and 65 meters across.

As everything she had read about for months actually appeared before her, it took on a surreal quality , rather like things had that first day at Hogwarts. The barrow of Skalunda where Beowulf should lie was _**really**_ there. And there was the ancient church with its two towering rune stones, right in front of her. It was all just as the legends and the scholars had said it would be.

She stood by the tall runes now, turning her gaze from the mound to the church and back again. "I think Goblin families may have lived among the Vikings in those early times," she told Bill. "They were makers of armor and weapons after all."

"But Goblins don't like to give these things up, Hermione," he said with a shake of the head. "And Muggles dig up everything they can. What makes you think _**anything**_ would be left to just sit in a mound. Especially anything of value?"

"I can only hope the sources I have read that say the mound has _**not**_ been excavated are right. I don't know what would make anyone turn their back on these places though. I guess their true importance just gradually got forgotten."

"Don't get your hopes up, Hermione. It may just turn out to be a pile of dirt next to a lovely old church," Bill told her.

"Well, I've come all this way. I want in," she said with determination, as she looked off at the mound. "At one point that mound held weapons, armor, and shields. Some of them magical. And I am not leaving until I am sure they are not there any more. And this is the place to start. I know it." Hermione said, excitedly. She ran her hand over one of the large rune stones in the church yard. "I don't know what the whole stone says, but I recognize Beowulf's name," Hermione said.

"Let's go over to the church. Given these rune stones and the close distance to the mound, it makes sense that they might be connected some how," Bill said. "But we can't be mucking about here much longer, it's getting late and we should find a hotel."

She walked behind him on the path for the church door, dragging her pack behind her. They had stood still too long it seemed and the cold was now shortening her strides. Up ahead, Bill put down the disguised owl's case and grabbed the door handle without any expectation of it opening. It rattled, but held fast as he tugged on it. She stood along side him now and watched him carefully use his wand.

"Alohomora," Bill whispered. But the door did not open.

Hermione raised her eyebrows as if to apologize, and then tried the spell herself. "AlohoMORA," she said, vehemently. "That should work," she complained.

"Obviously," Bill told her.

"What do we do now?"

"A bit of Gobledegook. That is why I am here, right? Let's test your theory that Goblin magic is rife in Sweden," he said, as if making a joke.

"That's a different wand," she said, as he pulled a short oak piece from his coat.

"That's part of the Gringott's mystique. It takes a different wand for a Wizard to do Goblin magic at the bank. And even then it is limited. Now stand back. I've only done this on stuck vaults." Bill concentrated and seemed to wind up a bit as if to throw a cricket ball.

The first syllable on his lips, Bill stumbled forward when he heard someone call out, "What do you _**want**_, Wizards?" It was just a small whine of a voice and unmistakably coming from inside the church. "Are you trying to hurt my door?" it complained then.

After the initial shock, Hermione managed, "We wanted to talk with someone about the church." She looked at Bill with wide eyes while they waited to hear something back. "But, how do you know what we are?" she whispered next. But she knew the answer to that question was evident IF the person on the other side was magical, too.

There was silence for a very long time, as if whoever was inside was trying to decide what to do.... Or had left. With her ear pressed up against the wood, Hermione thought she heard a sigh.

"Are you still there?" Hermione said, gently. "Could you let us in, just so we could see the inside of the church? We've come a very long way."

"Go away," a tired answer finally came.

"My friend is pregnant," Bill tried. "It would really help if she could just..."

A slot in the wood creaked open, and they heard little noises of appreciation at the sight of Hermione's belly.

"Go to the back," came the voice. "I will let you in there."

///

A/N: Thank you for reading! :)


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N: I am out on a limb here. A "hot sexxor" limb, and I am not even 100 percent sure what that means. I took MollysSister's last review "Um where are the hot sexxors? hum?" as a bit of a challenge. It sounded like she was 'calling me out.' **

**God knows, there is nothing unique to be written anymore, but I will be happy if you think it "fresh" and "different." And hopefully "hot?" **

**For my favorite prude.**

///

Kingsley and Alastor conferred in the Auror's office over the list that Professor Dumbledore had given them. "Montague Farraday, Eloise Montgomery, and Tory Timms," Alastor said, "all from the Wizengamot. But that's a GUESS," the scarred man growled angrily. "Anyone from the Wizengamot could be targeted."

Shacklebolt didn't answer Moody other than to nod. He wouldn't fuel the pacing man's smoldering fury.

"And Agatha Smythe and Jeremy Totwinder from the Hogwarts Board of directors," Moody said. "Again. A guess! Every member of that board. Every member who is not _**already**_ in Vodemort's pocket," Alastor clarified, "is at risk. And the last names, Albus mentioned were the heads of the newspapers." Moody sighed and bowed his head over his staff. He no longer had the strength to complain.

Kingsley crooked a critical eyebrow at Alastor then, "And how credible is this, Moody? We will need to mobilize dozens of Aurors for this. Can you tell me why does Albus think something is about to happen?"

"I don't know," Moody lied, irritably. "He just knows these things. So let's get to work. Let's figure out what teams we have. How we can ..." Alastor's words died off in frustration. He didn't even know how to finish the sentence, because he didn't know if they could do anything anymore but fail. And he was so damnably tired of failing.

"All right, old man," Kingsley said, soothingly. "Sit down."

And with a tired grunt Mad Eye sank into his chair.

//

"You want to go visit your grandmother, Mr. Longbottom?" Minerva asked from behind her desk, sounding slightly confused.

"Not my 'Gran,' Professor. My great-grandmother. My Yia Yia," he said a mite sheepishly.

"Your ...?"

"It's Greek. _**She's**_ Greek. I haven't seen her for a long time. She and my Gran do not get on. Well, with the way things are going, I thought I should really go see her. She lives in the Lakes District. Um, it would be just for this weekend? I wouldn't miss any classes, I swear."

And it must be a sign of just how insane everything was, Neville thought. He heard the old witch sigh. Saw her weaken and knew that McGonagall would let him go.

He pulled the Transfiguration professor's door closed as he left and heaved a breath. Somehow, he had managed it. Perhaps he was just finally coming to grips with the notion that his life was destined to be filled with formidable women like his Head of House. And that he would _**have**_ to manage it.

Augusta Longbottom, his gran, was as tough as they came. She gave old McGonagall a run for her money.

Luna, he thought with a crooked smile, was nothing less than a force of nature. And worth the effort to keep her.

And his Yia Yia? _ Kyrie Eleison!_ He thought, expending a good portion of the little Greek he knew. This would be a difficult weekend. The old woman would be glad to see him, and the visit was long over due. But what would she say when he told her he wanted the sword?

She had always told him when he was a child that the ancient xiphos would be there when any of them needed it. That a Greek warrior would not think of going into battle without it, and that that sword had seen generations of Vrahori men through a fight.

It had all just been stories when he was 8 and 9 years old. The sword hung there over the fire place far out of his reach. Mesmerizing him. And some times, she would pull it down and help him hold it.

It wasn't long after that that Augusta had stopped his visits to that side of the family. She was rankled by everything about them. The stories of the tobacco and olive farms. The volume at which they spoke. The frequency with which they laughed and hugged. The mere presence of ouzo and mavrodaphne. And the inescapable way everything they cooked smelled overdone and overspiced.

They lived in a very big way. Nothing held back. In short, it was the complete opposite of the life he had had with Augusta Longbottom.

Alone in his dormitory, he packed and he thought. This trip was not only because of that night with Luna. But the way he had felt when she walked away from him as if he could not hold her interest had clarified an awful lot for him. He was tired of getting beaten, coming in last, or being too timid to even try. Tired enough to do something about it.

Whether it was the coming fight to help Harry and Dumbledore or his need to keep Luna with him, Nevilla Adrastos Longbottom was done losing. And somehow that old sword and that old woman figured into that.

He tossed the bag over his shoulder with a sigh. Then, he dared to look in the mirror to accept its verdict before heading for the stairs.

"Ooo," it told him saucily. "We are not the boy we were."

///

Hermione tried not to stare. She had seen Goblins before, but this one was obviously quite different. He was older than the others she had met. And decidedly more quirky. It came across in the odd way he dressed. The ancient, baggy trousers, braces, and checkered shirt. And in the exaggerated mannerisms he seemingly could not contain.

"Thank you for letting us in," she said, as she put her pack down next to a pew in the darkened church. "It's so cold out there." And that was a rather silly thing to say she knew, as it was really no warmer in the unused church.

"Wizards?" the Goblin said, as if he had not heard Hermione. "I never thought.... Wizards." He sounded both astonished and distrustful. He eyed them up and down quickly, but seemed to want to spend most of his time eyeing Hermione's pregnant bump. His hands nervously flew and twitched, making her wonder if he would reach out and touch it.

Bill bowed then and introduced himself, addressing him formally in Gobledegook.

"Ha!" the old Goblin laughed and shook a long finger. "City talk! Strange, strange to hear it at all." But he returned the greeting and the formal bow with amused dramatics. "And there is city magic on you, Tall Red. Are you Thor come home?" he said to Bill. It seemed only half a joke to the Goblin. He eyed Bill then and took his hand not to shake it, but to inspect the palm.

He reached forward and brushed Bill's sleeve as if he had seen some lingering trace of magic there. Half of what this thing said did not make sense. Hermione worried. The poor old Goblin seemed out of his head. "To see Wizards at all after all this time is very odd for me, the old Gundigoff," he said with a hand to his chest.

Hermione took this as his introduction and told him, "Gundigoff, I'm glad to meet you... I'm Hermione...."

"No. That's not my name. I am one of the last Gundigoffs. The Keepers for the Smiths. My name is Geberic." He shook his head at their ignorance. "I supposed we will have to go below. We can not stay up here and risk someone seeing us.... Come along." he said a mite gruffly. "Of course, I may have to Obliviate you later..." he grumbled. They followed the stiff old soul toward a trap door in the floor. He used his wand to raise the covering, and grunting with the trouble the stairs caused him, he slowly descended.

Hermione had thought she might feel claustrophobic down there. But the space was large and divided into rooms. Everything was marked in shadows and yellowish light. It looked cozy, as if a family belonged there. There were tall bookshelves, a game table, a blanket thrown over the arm of the couch, and a well worn rocker that held an open book.

"Does this extend under the whole of the church," Bill asked, as he looked around.

"The whole of the church?... Mmm?! Yes. Maybe more," Geberic hinted as he walked away.

"And you live here alone?" Hermione asked, gently, as she followed him to what she saw was the kitchen.

"Now. Yes," Geberic said, sadly. But he smiled at her as he put the kettle on the old stove. "Sit down, Pregnant Hermione," he said pointing to an old chipped table and chairs in the corner of the kitchen. "Tell me why you are here."

"We want to learn more about the Skalunda Mound. About Beowulf. And the church and the yard here," she told him once she was settled in.

"No one cares about those things any more," he objected.

"I do," Hermione tried.

"She has been researching this for months," Bill told the Goblin from the doorway. "She insisted on coming here. Maybe you could just tell us what you know, since you live so close to the mound," Bill continued. "Have you been here long?"

"Over a hundred years. And I know a thing or two." Geberic hesitated then and eyed her with disbelief, " Do you want to hear some stories then, girl?"

"Yes, very much," Hermione said, but she was wondering how tea in this little kitchen would ever lead her to the artifacts.

This was not what she expected from this trip. It was supposed to be old locks and curses to deal with. Some sort of intrigue along the lines of breaking into the Chamber of Secrets. Tests of her skills and magic. And Bill's ability to negotiate Goblin mysteries.

Instead, she was placating an elderly Goblin who might be out of his mind for all she knew. Who might know nothing. Who might just be sitting next to an empty mound.

_Patience, Hermione, _she warned herself.

Geberic shuffled toward the table with a tray. Bill disappeared into the other room with an impish grin and reappeared with the tin that held his mother's famed cookies.

///

"Stay a while. We will talk. We can not rush these things," the Goblin said with a lilt to his voice, as his hand dipped into the tin for another cookie. "I must consider them while we take some supper together."

But Hermione needed to move things forward. She needed answers. Needed to know if the Goblin could be counted on to see their side of things. "Do you know about the fight within the magical community in Britain?" she asked.

"He Who Must Not Be Named, yes? I know. I got a letter last year from my son who is in Germany."

"Then you must know that he will not be content with just Britain," Hermione said, softly.

"This I know as well," he said, warily. "You are going to tell me now that it is in my interest to help you somehow." And he laughed. Hermione slid her eyes to Bill and then blew out a resigned breath. The old Goblin was apparently quite lucid and insightful when he chose to be.

"Just tell me if there are things here that could help those who fight?" Bill said. "There is a barrow. The locals say it has never been opened. and that it contains a wealth of ....

"Why would you think I have anything that could help you? There is nothing here of interest at all," he objected. "But you.... You, I can tell, are an interesting one, Hermione," the old Goblin said, deftly turning the conversation now. "Brave. Young and pretty...." he paused then. Smiled, as he waited to say the most obvious and most curious bit, "Pregnant and out scouring the northlands with a man who is not her husband?"

"Geberic, if you knew how important this was..." Hermione pleaded.

"The wizarding world sends a pregnant woman. Barely out of school and her ... Goblin-trained body guard to Skalunda to fumble about? Well, obviously, things are desperate," Geberic said mockingly. Then his tone relented. "It is late. Stay here tonight. Don't let me chase you off with my sour mood, hmm? We can talk more tomorrow." And without waiting for an answer, he stood to pull the makings of a light dinner from his cupboards.

She looked at Bill. His expression clearly said they shouldn't stay. But he also knew that Hermionie would want to. This was her best chance of getting information, of getting into the mound. And so, as she stared at him, Bill's expression changed to one of aquiescence.

///

Before they went to bed, they penned quick letters to let everyone know they were safe. Hermione wondered who, if anyone, she should even bother informing. She wrote a quick note to Professor McGonagall, and then watching Bill lovingly labor over a letter to Fleur, she gave in and scribbled two words to Severus.

_Arrived safely._

The pen hovered there. It would be coded. There was no reason not to include _I love you. Or I miss you._ But she had said those both the last time she had seen him. Had flung those words at him enough to make the man nearly go numb. And so she left it at that. Spelled the letter blank and put it in an envelop for him that she tucked into the envelop for the Deputy Headmistress. Bill took the owl, Goldie, up to the church yard and sent him on his way, while Hermione helped Geberic in his small kitchen.

Hermione could not help but think the Goblin was reliving some sort of memory as he stood frozen there, smiling at her, watching her dry a dish.

_Patience, Hermione_, she said to herself. As always there were a thousand questions in her head. But this situation could not be magicked. Could not be forced. Would not yield to research or ratiocination. And so she silently smiled back and moved on to another dish.

When Bill returned from outside, Geberic wordlessly retrieved the towel from her hands and placed the dish on the counter top. He guided her then down the short hall way where the bedrooms were while Bill followed. "Pink," he said indicating the walls of the second room he came to. "You'll be comfortable in here." And he turned to Bill. "Across the hall with you then, Tall Red. Although the green will not suit your hair, perhaps." And seeming very tired, the old Goblin walked away.

///

The second day went by with meals and stories. Geberic slowly began with the myths of the area, weaving in the Goblin role to each tale. Eventually, the old Goblin told them bits about his family who had lived there with him. The children who had grown and left. The wife who was buried in the grave yard.

Geberic seemed to close down a bit then. And Hermione and Bill decided to walk into town to buy anything they could think of while Geberic rested in his room.

They returned with biscuits and coffee, pipe tobacco and fresh fruit. Quietly, so as not to wake the napping Goblin, they went to the kitchen to put the groceries away. It was difficult to attend to such mudanities when the unused corridors of Geberic's underground home were calling to her.

She wanted to see what might be behind the closed doors. She wanted to know all the things Geberic had not told them yet. _And instead,_ she mused, _the 'brightest witch of her age' is worried about where an old Goblin keeps his coffee._

_How could it be that a Goblin lived here, right here within sight of Beowulf's resting place, where his Goblin-made armor should lie, if these things were not connected?_

Bill's hands were on her shoulders then, steering her for the couch. "I know what you are thinking. Stop staring at those doors like you are going to rip them off the hinges," he whispered. "And sit down. Please. My mother warned me 8 times not to let your ankles swell."

"Sheesh," was all Hermione managed, as she bounced onto the cushion in defeat.

///

After dinner, Hermione convinced Geberic to sit with her in the church yard on a forgotten bench. She Disillusioned their spot so no one would notice them. But they needn't have worried. They did not see anyone at all from where they were. They could hear cars far off in the distance, but that was all. Mostly, they sat quietly. She looked at him carefully, out of the corner of her eye and noticed that despite the clouds, he squinted, as if pained by the light.

"A hundred years ago was....." he started. And faded off.

"Go on. Tell me," she encouraged him.

"No one cares...." and he patted his knee with his gnarled hand. Sniffed into his sleeve and stood.

Hermione knew entirely too much. So, of course she was well aware that Goblins were distrustful of outsiders. Not given to displays of affection with non-Goblins. But it was Hermione's genius that she knew when to forget what she knew.

She reached out and touched Geberic's arm the way she would have her grandfather's. "That's not true. I care," she murmured. And she passed her hand over his sleeve as if to console him. The Goblin turned slowly to walk back along the path.

Goldie returned as they walked for the church door, swooping in from the trees. There was a packet of letters with him, but Hermione tried not get her hopes up. There would be nothing from Severus, she told herself.

In the Goblin's rooms, she pulled the stack of mail apart. All the while her head was screaming, _there will be nothing_. But her heart didn't listen. _Just a note? _it whined._ Just a mention in a letter from McGonagall telling me he is all right? _

She tossed the last envelop to the table. A stack of 4. All addressed to Bill.

///

She couldn't sleep. There had been more uncomfortable beds and maybe even stranger situations than this Goblin's home.

The problem was thinking about her and Severus. Always she wanted more than there could be. A letter when there would be none. More time when he had to leave. That he might love her. Or want some sense of future.

And tonight the problem was her body, these hormones. Just one more disappointment heaped onto her day that she should ache for his attention when he was miles and miles from her.

Bill had his letter. Dripping in perfume and adoration. Fleur worships him. He's head over heels for her. _How ....nice,_ she thought. _God, I should be jealous. I should be saying THAT is what I want. I love Severus. But...._

She groaned then and pressed her legs together. Squeezed her eyes tight. It didn't help. When she thought of Severus Snape, she did not foresee scented letters. Although, any letter at all would be nice. It would be wonderful if she just knew where the son of a bitch was occasionally.

And she did not expect endearments. Because Snape didn't love her.

Wouldn't love her.

But she loved him. Right? Like her mother did her father? And that is what she should be capable of thinking about. She groaned now. Kicked the covers. She was sick. Incapable of any normal thoughts. Or of ones not centered on sex. Not that sex was dirty. Well, it didn't have to be. But, God. Dirty was so how she felt right now when she could not conjure one thought about being in love with that man. About just admiring that man.

No.

Instead, she replayed every teasing bite he had given her. Every kiss that had made her moan.

This was wrong. There was a normal level of need, she believed. And she had gone beyond that. She was definitely twisted.

Everything she was dwelling on was suddenly physical. There were no pure thoughts. It was about that man's body. Her body. The sensations. They had been together such a finite number of times, and she could remember each one in detail.

The night in the flat, when he had teased her out while waiting for the effects of the penis-wilting back rub to wear off, kept coming back to her. It played in her head, so incredibly real. Made her breath catch and her fingers sink into her pants.

When she thought about what he could do with just the tip of his tongue, she ached.

He watched her while he did it; she knew he did. Listened to her, wanting to know how frantic he was making her. But then, it was impossible to miss the way her hips rose and fell. Even the perpetually distracted Binns would have been flash frozen at the sight. Her movements were wild. Involuntary. She had been shocked by her own reaction. Timidly ashamed at first as his hands came up and grabbed her firmly. She had been almost relieved that he was holding her down. His fingers spread wide to hold her hips, he worked to contain her thrusts.

Only now it wasn't just the tip of his tongue on her. And the jolts going through her made her moan and push harder at him without even meaning to.

It felt even better when he clamped her thighs tighter then, so they could not betray her. She was turned on beyond belief when he needed to lean in to her with half his weight to keep her pinned to the mattress. Just so he could touch his tongue to her. Again and again.

His grip seemed to slip, and then she groaned. Not because of what he was doing, but because he had stopped. He pulled his head back, but still restrained her. He was panting hard, and she felt his breath on her. She tried to twist, wanting more. Hoping not to have to beg for it.

Suddenly, she knew why he had stopped. His hand came up to test his lip the way a man might after someone had punched him.

_Oh God,_ she thought then, and her eyes went wide. _Had she thrashed hard enough to hurt him?_ _Maybe split his lip?_ She whined an apology. And frozen, she waited for his response.

He rubbed at his mouth, and gradually, his surprise faded to amusement. "Wounded," he said, with a faint chuckle. "In bed."

He was the wary lion tamer now, his head at a distance. Trying to keep her held, while his fingers ghosted over her to ratchet her up again.

His breath on her was making her whine. It was keeping her primed, but greedily, she wanted the touch of his tongue back.

"Please," she whispered, shyly.

"Yes," he finally said. The grip on her thighs shifted. He would not let up control of her legs, but he moved them. Slowly, opening them wider. She keened, feeling fully outside herself suddenly.

"Shhh," he told her. And her stomach clenched in response to his voice and the fingers that passed slickly over her. "I will," he reassured her.

It was the careful deliberateness he used when he pressed his fingers into her. That is what made it resonate through her whole body. That is what made her go rigid. Made her scream. She arched to meet his hand and strained against him. She watched him, kept her eyes on his, and pushed a hand through his hair. It seem to come so exquisitely slowly, when he lowered his head to her again. He owned her then. By giving his wounded self to her. And she knew it. She was his. Naked and open.

Ridiculously, it was gratitude that she thought she felt. And the words 'thank you' may have spilled from her, as her eyes closed.

She was pushing against him and yielding to him. She needed to rail. And at the same time, to give up everything. To empty her soul right there, as he wrapped his arms around her, pulled her into his mouth. Silently, she begged him to take more and more of her. To have all of her. To help her disappear.

She sighed and struggled, and he met each effort. Pushed back against her. Held her firmly. Took her harder. Filled her.

And she came. As if she was rising up. Expanding into everything. And fading sweetly away.

She came now remembering it. Whimpering and sad. Because it was a paltry, half a thing that barely met a need.

Near cursing and near crying, she rolled over. She worked to slow her heart and breathing. Involuntarily, she called him into her mind. The pictures there slowly soothed her, reminded her of all he was. Hogwart's exacting potions master. Dumbledore's reluctant spy. Her tortured-seeming suitor. The straight man who hated her jokes. Guardian and tired, lost soul.

She thought about what his barest smile felt like when it rose beneath her finger tips. The surety she found in his embrace even in those earliest days. The sound of his voice when it coaxed her from sleep.

She smiled faintly as the emotions registered with her. In that moment, she knew without a doubt she loved him. Missed him. It wasn't her fault if she sometimes forgot that for a moment or two was it?

Not when the bastard couldn't be troubled to let her know he was still breathing? Not when her hormones made her insane. Especially not when he himself had given her so very much worth fantasizing over, she thought with a smirk.

She curled up then on her side and tried to get comfortable. She finally began to relax, a bit of peace worked over her, and that was when she felt it.

There had been a flutter or two before, but with no one to share it with, she had written it off as something other than the baby. She rolled onto her back now and held her belly with both hands. And she felt it again. Not a flutter. This was more like a .... _**push,**_ she decided.

Hermione moved back onto her side and stroked her stomach, and feeling like a madwoman then, she began to whisper. "I know you're in there. I know..... boy." But that wasn't what she wanted to call him... "boy."

Molly had told her, Bill had been called 'Bean' before he was born because he was a 'little jumping bean.' Somehow Hermione just pictured this baby to be so much like Severus. Quiet and with his dark hair and eyes. And she laughed then when it came to her with perfect clarity,

"And I know who you are," she whispered. "My little Black Eyed Pea."

###

Bill was not awake yet, as their third day beneath the church began. When Hermione passed his room she could hear his soft snores and see his feet hanging from the bed. She continued toward the kitchen where she heard Geberic cooking.

Her morning exchange with the Goblin was quiet. And finally, when breakfast was ready, Geberic told her, "I can tell you things. But it must be in trade. It would be wrong for there to be nothing in trade."

"Of course," Hermione said. She thanked him for the plate he handed her and then continued shyly. "But may I tell you something first? Not at all in trade. I'm just very excited and I have to tell someone.... I felt the baby kick last night," she said, smiling broadly. "Really, truly kick. For the first time."

It was a whine perhaps, the sad, happy little noise Geberic made as he stretched a single finger to touch her belly. Hermione only knew the sound made her smile more.

///


	34. Chapter 34

**a/n: I am sorry to have been away so long. In part, I was literally away. And in part, my brain has been stolen by the idea of a Dr. Who Seventh Doctor fic. But now that I have the first chapter of that story up (and out of my brain) I can think Severus again. Yay**!

* * *

Dumbledore had what he had always wanted, Severus mused to himself. The spy was now closer to Voldemort than he had ever been, closer than he wanted to be. Of course, Dumbledore would not know it.

Severus had had no contact with anyone outside Malfoy's Manor for a week. He had not been back to Hogwart's. No one could reach him. And he had not risked any more communication with the outside.

So far, he was just Voldemort's appointed potioneer.

The potions Severus was crafting for the Dark Lord were strong, but still the frightening man wanted more. Voldemort believed himself sharper now, more effective, but it was very nearly only mania and drug-induced euphoria driving him. And driving his plans.

Occasionally, there were hints from the Dark Lord that more was to be entrusted to Severus, but the spy could only wait until that new role was revealed.

...

The Dark Lord was enjoying the rush of thoughts his new potions provoked. He sat alone with his eyes closed, a satisfied smile on his face. He could see it all, and vividly. Everything was coming together now, his thoughts told him, and anything was possible.

He would turn a crucial portion of this plan over to Severus, yes. But first, he needed to pull Snape in closer, hold him very close, and be sure. _It was all too perfect_, he thought. The potions had gradually granted him such clarity, and he could see that everything was working flawlessly. He had been right about everything. Severus included.

His blood status was not an impediment! Ha! It was a blessing. It made Snape work harder to prove himself to his master. No one worked harder than he. And none of his Death Eaters was as insightful. It was Snape who had mentioned _**eugenics**_, who had seen that the war must change from one of mindless strikes to one of mindful domination.

The relocation of prized dissenters and valuable Muggles would begin. The Muggle economy would be his. The Muggle Government, his puppet. All these things were possible, and the secret was deftly removing those in his way. Things must be done quickly, efficiently. But with some secrecy as well.

The Disappearings would begin. There would be few bodies to raise alarm, just people gone. Gone and placed in camps. Snape would be the perfect man for this. He had a head that went beyond the revels, beyond the blood sport, beyond the war. Snape understood the need for control.

///

The Head of the Wizengamot was unfazed by the warnings Alastor brought. "The chamber is unbreachable," he told the old Auror, firmly. "The building itself has been re-warded and additional guards posted. Really, this paranoia does not help. The members are quite safe."

For the Hogwarts Board members, there was no safe place to be, and there was no false bravado. The threat was too real. The risk, nerve wracking. One member resigned, sweaty and bowed, within 15 minutes of Alastor's warning. A grinning Lucius Malfoy quickly replaced him with a 'suitable' candidate.

Two Aurors died defending the Totwinder family. And still, the board member and his family were killed.

Just two days later, Wizengamot Member Farraday died after a "fall" in his bath. And his colleague Plum, who had felt secure to not be on the list of those targeted, had his home leveled. He was quite safely ensconced in the legislative chambers, but his wife's body was never even found.

Alastor was sadly not surprised when Plum and three more members of the legislature resigned the following day.

The balance of power was tipped.

///

"There are things here," Geberic seemed to tease as his eyes flitted from Hermione to Bill over the breakfast table. "That is why I am here. I am the Keeper. The Goblin Smiths made much of Beowulf's armor and his metal work and then were the ones left to guard it. Well, the things that were not given away or lost in battle. You understand."

Hermione was already leaning forward eagerly. But Bill knew better. This was Goblin maneuvering. Geberic had not even mentioned what the terms of the trade were.

They had to consider how to approach this. How would they get the information they needed? And then how would they ever get any objects away from a Goblin...... well, without killing him.

"Any items would be returned," Hermione was already saying. "We would not own them. Just put them in the hands of those who need them."

Bill held his breath. Their hand was tipped already.

"I do not have that authority," Geberic said, dismissively.

"Who does?" Bill asks.

"My superior. The Keeper reports to the Superior."

"_**But**_, you said you were the last of the Gundigoff Clan," Hermione reminded him.

Bill watched the old Goblin as surreptitiously as his interest would allow. Hermione had trapped him, perhaps, with that statement. And so, Bill was not surprised when the Goblin looked away a minute and then changed the subject.

"This child of yours. A son?" Geberic asked, in an intently curious voice.

"Yes," Hermione said, warily.

"This is not an ordinary thing, this baby. But I do not know why."

Hermione blushed and looked quickly at Bill before dropping her head for a moment. She steeled herself before looking back to the goblin.

"I cannot tell you the whole story," she said, apologetically.

"With Wizards, it is always like that," he said. "But you will tell me what you can. To begin this trade, hmm? I want this story. You will tell me yours. About this baby ... and the man," he said eerily. "And I will tell you a little story. About Beowulf and the weapons the Goblins made for him. Here," he said, pointing off in the direction of the mound.

_Was he admitting the weapons were real? Admitting the they were buried here?_ Hermione tried to reign in her pulse. She didn't want to show how desperate she was to see this finished. To know the truth.

"Yes. I would like to hear your story. I can tell you mine," Hermione agreed with an inward tremble. She looked at Bill, and he understood that she couldn't do this with him there.

"I'll take Goldie up to the church yard for some hunting," Bill offered. And in expectant silence, Geberic and Hermione watched him go and then listened for the click of the latch on the door to the church.

"The father?" Geberic asked, the second his eyes fell back on Hermione.

"A good man," she said, solemnly.

"It was not his idea," Geberic said, looking pleased.

"No," Hermione laughed back. "It was definitely not." She was smiling now, despite herself.

"I want to hear all about him. And you." The Goblin said in a more relaxed voice. He propped his feet up on a stool, drew his shawl around him, and stuck his unlit pipe in his mouth. Finally settled in, he nodded for Hermione to begin.

Quietly, shyly at first, Hermione told Geberic all about Severus Snape. She detailed his talents. His likes and dislikes. Suddenly, it was more personal, and she found herself describing the depth of his eyes. And how good it felt to merely hold his hand. Sadly, with her head held lower now, she told the Goblin how battered the man's heart seemed to be. And about the scars that the Dark Lord had given him.

She talked for more than 2 hours. But never mentioned him by name. She told Geberic all the things she had not been able to tell anyone else. And she glowed, the old Goblin saw, as she did it.

"But he can't see beyond this war. He doesn't believe he can live to see it ended. As if his sacrifice, his life, is somehow required." The Goblin nodded sadly and considered her. Reflexively, Hermione placed a hand to the pendant at her throat.

"That?" Geberic asked gently.

"He gave me this. At Christmas."

"It is very nice," he says, as he turns his head to view it better. "Older than you," the Goblin suggested meaningfully.

"It was his mother's," Hermoine said, with some difficulty.

More questions came at her then and she answered them all. Geberic wanted to know about their separate pasts. Their uneasy present, and their uncertain future.

But Hermione insisted they stop their discussion for lunch. She called Bill down and the three of them talked of other things over their meal. Easy, simple things like Quidditch, Gringott's and Hogwarts. Hermione could feel the emotion build in her again as the meal ended. Geberic would want to know more she knew. He would press for further secrets, disturb more emotions, before he was through.

With the dishes done, the three of them went up to sit in the church yard. Geberic and Hermione settled on to the hidden bench, side by side.

Bill pulled his coat tighter around him, tucking it under him before he sat on the ground under a tall oak. He looked up to see Goldie sitting in the branches, and then closed his eyes and tipped his head back to rest against the tree.

It was Goldie who reacted first to the incoming owl. Bill was on his feet fast then, his senses feeling primed. He knew it had to be urgent for someone to send their own owl rather than wait for Goldie's regular trips in.

He motioned the tawny bird in, and it landed near him, offering up its letter with jerky leg motions.

_Gringott's,_ Bill realized before he even got the letter opened. He knew just by seeing the owl and the type of parchment the letter was made from. He had planned to walk over to Hermione to share whatever missive was coming in when he first saw the owl approach. He had stood and walked toward the bench where she was sitting to call the owl in. But he froze now, quite unable to move until he confirmed what he feared it would say.

They were calling him back.

///

Neville stood outside the building that held his Yia Yia's store and home. He looked up to the painted awning and then peered through the large front windows. So, little had changed. This small village seemed untouched, so happily untouched.

_The Old Curiosity Shop_, he mused. That was what he had always likened the family place to. It was magical, yes. But even more unreal. Like living in something someone had written.

He pulled his bag back onto his shoulder and then pushed through the door. He wanted to smile when he heard the familiar ding to the bell over his head, but he was far too nervous. The clerk looked up and smiled at him for a moment before her eyes narrowed and her movements froze.

"May I help you," she asked, automatically. And all the while her eyes seemed to be assessing him.

"I'm looking for my Yia Yia, Eleni Economous?"

The slim, young woman walked from behind the counter now until she was close enough to him that she needed to look up at him. She grinned at what she saw and took his chin in her hand. He relented to this treatment, out of shock, perhaps. And he felt his head turned back and forth. His profile being inspected.

And then she tugged on him, dragging him lower. She stood up on her toes then so that she could kiss him on both cheeks. "Little Neville Adrastos!" the woman announced happily.

///


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N: I was so sure this chapter was done and then I remembered poor Neville. I couldn't forget poor Neville! Sorry this took so long to write!  
**

* * *

Neville was nearly propelled up the stairs by the woman he now knew was Irene. He vaguely remembered her from his visits here years ago. A head taller than him, then. And usually up a tree. She had been pushy then, too.

"Thea," Irene called up the stairs. "Thea Eleni, it's Neville!"

"My Yia Yia is your aunt?" Neville asked, turning around on the stairs.

"No," Irene laughed, and she leaned harder into shoving him up the stairs. "I just call her 'Aunite.' Now move, Neville."

At the top of the stairs they seemed to burst into a room filled with antiques and wares for the store below. And in an overstuffed chair, there sat a woman with silver hair wearing widow's black.

She pulled off her glasses and rubbed at them, squinting.

"Irene," the old woman said questioningly.

"You fell asleep," Irene said with a smile in her voice. "It's the ledgers. You shouldn't even look at them. They always make you fall asleep. But look here." And Irene waited, with her hand on Neville's arm as if afraid he would run for it. And once Eleni had her glasses back on, Irene whispered dramatically, "It's Neville."

"Oh, my boy!" the old woman shrieked with a hand over her heart. "Look at you!" And Irene moved quickly to her side then to help her stand up. Neville drew in closer, looking down to see his Yia Yia now only reached to his mid-chest. "What a fine man you are. Oh, look at you. Just like your Papou. Every bit as handsome. Isn't he a good looking one, Irene."

"Yes, Thea. He grew up very nicely." Irene assured the old woman. "In fact," she said cheekily, now looking at Neville. "There is a line of girls out front already."

"Pshaw! Stop it, Irene. Or you'll not even get to dance with him at the taverna tonight. Then," she said with a wag of her forefinger "you'll be sorry." She turned and raised a hand to smack Neville lightly on the cheeks and it required a long extension of her arm. "Say something, Neville!"

"It's so good to see you, Yia Yia. I'm so sorry it has been so long since I've been here."

"Sh. You are here now. So, kiss me, Neville. Kiss your poor old Yia Yia. And we will talk about what is new with you."

///  
He left at the last possible moment come that Sunday evening. There had been dancing as promised. And magnificent food. And strong handshakes and hugs. Stories and laughter. And pretty girls. Entirely too many pretty girls who seemed so glad to talk with him

It had been a remarkable visit. But none of it was as remarkable as the moment his Yia Yia had shown him how to command the family sword.

"You'll have to stand with me, Neville. Catch it. I can't do that on my own any longer." And he stood behind her and they stretched out their hands. "Ela thou," they said together. The Greek words giving him a powerful feeling in his chest.

And the sword snapped from its spot over the fireplace and flew into their collective grasp.

"It is a small sword. Yes. But powerful. It is for those times when other things are lost or impossible. The soldiers had a saying, 'When the spear fails... use the sword...' But you must work to understand this weapon and this magic."

"Yes," was all Neville could manage. "I will. I will make you proud, Yia Yia."

"I am already so proud of you. **_Be well._** Please. Be safe. **_That_** is what I ask."

...

It was a strange, unsettling feeling. He felt it still, lingering on him as he unpacked in his dormitory at Hogwarts. To be so well loved. To know that sort of welcoming. To feel how unconditional it all was. He felt stronger and more able than he ever had before. _Was it the sword?_ he wondered. Or the family who had given it to him?

///

"You have to go back?!" Hermione said, incredulously.

To preclude being overheard, they were huddled together in Bill's room in the Goblin's home. They were unwilling to use a silencing charm and seem at all impolite or secretive.

"I don't have a choice," Bill explained. "I can't risk this job."

"So, you go. You'll take care of this vault of theirs, and then you'll come back."

"Right. Hopefully," he said, his voice rising in a worried whine. "Hermione, what if it takes longer than I think it will? What if they pull the rest of my vacation time and I can't come back? From the little the letter says this is a huge problem they are having with this vault. No one there has been able to get near it, it is throwing off _**that**_ many curses."

"Can't they just get the owner to fix this? The owner must have done this!" Hermione said.

"I wonder if they are trying to handle this without involving the owner," Bill said. "They might not want that person to know they are investigating the vault."

Hermione's eye left Bill's and she suddenly fell silent. She gripped his sleeve as if warning him against saying anything while she worked on her thoughts. Finally, she began to nod her head. "The Goblins at the bank are _**suspicious**_ then. You have to go, Bill. And you need to figure out whose vault this is. Think about it, who the heck would curse a vault like that? What are they hiding? Maybe it's just some paranoid old crack pot. Or maybe it's someone working for Voldemort. Hiding something for him! Figure out everything you can and then tell Dumbledore," she insisted.

"But come back with me, Hermione," Bill said, cautiously.

"I'll be fine. I can't leave now. We are too close, Bill. If I go, Geberic might change his mind. He might never tell us where things are."

"And maybe none of this is real. Maybe he is just some lonely old Goblin living under a church. Next to an empty mound, Hermione. Besides, if I come back without you, my mother is going to give me hell."

"Lie to her," Hermione said, ruthlessly. "Tell her I'm in a hotel. Tell her whatever you need to. Just figure out what is going on with that vault and then get back here. Geberic started this deal with both of us. He will want the two of us here to finish it out. You are the business end of this to him. I'm just the pregnant side show," she said wistfully.

///

"There's my boy," Molly said triumphantly when she saw Bill push through the door three days later. "Back already! Safe and sound, thank goodness." She planted a quick kiss on his cheek and walked back for the kitchen, smiling.

But Arthur could see the young man's face was far from happy. "What is it Bill?" he asked quickly.

"Gringott's called me back, I've been at the bank for the past two days. I've even been sleeping there. We've been working on a vault non-stop."

Arthur motioned him over to the table and the two sat down, leaning close together.

"Did you two find anything in Sweden? Is Hermione back at the store then?"

"Yes. and then... well, no."

Arthur looked up quickly to make sure that Molly was occupied in the kitchen. "Start talking Bill," he implored his son, sotto voce.

"We found a Goblin living in the church there, near the mound." Arthur's eyes went wide. "I didn't think we should tell you folks more than just that we were there and all right. I knew mom wouldn't do well, knowing we were staying with the fellow under the church."

"So, is there something to find in the mound there?"

"Well, I think we are on to something. That's why Hermione didn't want to leave."

"But you _**made**_ her come back?" Arthur asked, hopefully.

"I couldn't," Bill whispered, frantically.

"Tell me what you two are whispering about," Molly demanded, coming up behind him, hands on hips.

"The suspicious vault I got called back to work on..." he lied. "I didn't want you to know how dangerous it was. Well, that's why I'm here. I... I 'borrowed' the vault area visitor logs from work. And I have got to get them back before anyone notices tomorrow. I need help going through them so we can figure out whose vault it is."

Molly was livid. She sank into the chair next to her son. "One child," she fumed. "Could I have had just one child who could walk in the door and admit _**from the get-go**_, what they are up to?"

"He came clean in under 5 minutes, really that's a record," Arthur said feigning a look at his watch. "So, why don't we find out what is going on before we boil him?"

"I've been listening at work. No one is saying whose vault it is. But the logs will tell us who has been signing in to the vault area." And he pulled a stack of ledgers from his satchel. "So, I figure," he said looking pleased with himself, "that in one of these books is the name of the person who boobytrapped that vault. God knows what they are hiding in there, but I am just betting they are not on our side. I am thinking Professor Dumbledore would love to know if we can connect this vault to a Death Eater."

"It could be another Horcrux," Molly said with a tired sigh.

"That was Hermione's guess," Bill said.

///

The next morning, an exhausted-looking Bill was cautiously tucking the ledgers back into the desk they had come from. And at Hogwarts, Molly was producing a parchment from her basket of treats that would detail all of Bellatrix LeStrange's visits to Gringott's over the past 4 months.

///

Hermione and Geberic passed their time quietly. More and more often Hermione found herself falling asleep over the books she had brought with her.

Geberic scolded her for staying up late. He seemed to want to fuss over her, a concept so foreign to Hermione that she occasionally felt the Goblin's actions paralyze her. It had been easier when she could try to forget she was pregnant. Her belly was larger now though. Her clothes pulled and fit strangely, and she noticed a lack of lap suddenly.

And when Geberic asked her, "How is the boy today?" there was no ducking to be done.

There was still so much more to do. And she had such limited time. She tried not to be anxious, but the worry nagged at her. There were her theories on weapons cache locations in Ireland and North America. And then the need to understand the Horcruxes. Sitting still was becoming difficult. And the research was the only way to pretend she was moving forward at all.

She asked Geberic about the sites in Ireland and America. Would there be Goblins there, she wondered. Did he know if they were caches for magical items?

To her surprise he did offer up what he knew. He had heard of the site in Ireland. Haunted, he had called it. But he knew nothing about the places in North America.

And there was a new theory that was ruminating in her brain. One which launched her in to panic. What if the knowledge her world had on Horcruxes was dangerously limited?

Horcruxes were so poorly understood that she had decided to look up references to them in other magical traditions. In texts detailing Egyptian sorcery, she found the notion that a soul could be transferred, not just to an object, but to a living thing. And so, why not a splintered soul, she wondered.

It would explain so much, she thought with a tremble. Harry could very likely be harboring a part of Voldemort's splintered soul. He might be a Horcrux.

///

She needed something other than these burdens. Being alone, carrying these things that felt like secrets was wearing on her nerves. She started wondering, even hoping that her logic was faulty, a product of her isolation.

She gripped the quill and hovered over the paper. How to write this so that McGonagall does not think me insane, she wondered.

///

_Professor McGonagall,_

_I've spoken with someone here who tells me my research is right. But his knowledge is a bit dated. _

_I am including information on a location I think warrants a visit. My source says there would be no "landlords" there as they are superstitious types and view the place as haunted._

She lifted the quill and subconsciously began to chew on it. Then there was the matter of Severus. The letter she had included in her last communication to Professor McGonagall had never been answered. She hated involving Minerva. She hated revealing aspects of their relationship.... namely that she was so incredibly desperate to hear from him and that she had gotten no reply.

_Have you been able to forward my other letter? _she finally wrote.

Love makes us vulnerable. Love makes us fools, she thought. Makes us do things we never would before. She tried to reassure herself over the weakness she felt in asking Minerva about the letter she had sent to Severus. She couldn't do it. She couldn't surrender that much of herself suddenly.

_Love makes us fools?_ she asked herself. _No._

And she tore up the letter. And rewrote it, omitting the final line.

///

Despite everything he had already heard, Geberic wanted to talk with her, to hear more stories. He would prod her books closed and stare at her until she relented.

But Hermione launched into a lull in the questioning. "I believe there are important weapons, weapons from the magical community that are lost or forgotten. Weapons made for past heroes. And this man. This baby's father will walk into the center of our world's worst battle.. We all need him to win, Geberic. But I need him to come back to me alive, too," she implored him.

She heard the old Goblin swallow hard, perhaps registering the emotion in what she had told him. "He is a Hero then? Your world does still have Heroes?" he asked.

Hermione nodded, bristling, feeling pushed. "Yes," she said firmly. "That is what I believe."

Geberic nodded and they settled into an uneasy silence for the rest of the night.

///

A tired Goldie returned the following morning. The letter the bird carried was a reply from Professor McGonagall, but Hermione focused on the lump she recognized. It was the note she had penned to Severus the previous week.

_UNLOCATEABLE_. That was all that was written on the front. It was Minerva's handwriting. But there was no explanation. No other message.

She clutch the letter, her head spinning, wondering why would it be unopened? Had he refused it? A childish, unsure part of her wondered. If he was untraceable, just where was he then? Was he all right?

She fumbled with the letter from Minerva. And once it was opened she nervously scanned it until she found what she wanted to see. "Your letter could not be delivered, but I am sure he is fine."

She blew out a breath, half reassured. And determined not to be frantic.

///

Her mind was running in circles and so, it was an incredible relief to have Bill return only a few hours later. She was glad to have him back. Glad to return her energies to their original purpose.

They sat up late and talked with Geberic. Hermione felt like a little girl too tired to stay up and see how her parents party turned out. Geberic chuckled at her attempts to stay awake and finally insisted that Bill send her off to bed.

As she lay in her room, she could smell the rich tobacco from their pipes. She closed her eyes and imagined them sitting in a long tunnel that stretched to the mound. A mound filled with treasures.

Hermione heard them laughing and she smiled, thinking, _It will all pay off ... this patience will pay off. _

...

"I thought about all of this while I was gone, Geberic," Bill said softly. "Why are you here? Wouldn't you like to leave? Maybe go be with one of your children?" Bill kept talking. He wouldn't give the Goblin a chance to refute any of this.

"You are here to watch over something. And you have no one to turn it over to, do you? You are the 'last of the keepers.' None of your children stayed to take over. And you have no one else left in your clan. This mound got forgotten, didn't it?

"You deserve a chance to turn this job over to someone else, Geberic. I think can help you. Anything you are watching could be placed somewhere else. Some place safe. Gringott's has vaults. Giant vaults even, Geberic. It would be perfect. They may not be your clan. But they are Goblins..." he faded off then and watched Geberic thinking about it.

///

It had been over two weeks since Minerva had seen her colleague. Severus had come in the dead of night again, rousing her and the headmaster. His outer cloak was splattered with mud and his boots were filthy. And it was plain the man was passed caring about that or any aspect of his appearance.

"The Dark Lord is obsessed with having this castle. But he will not move on it directly, yet. That will come."

"Yes, the Board is under his control now and there have been staff changes, already. Additions like the Carrows and Delores Umbridge acting as High Inquisitor," Minerva said with disgust. "And you know about the muggle-born Registration Commission?"

"Yes. I have been so very, very _**busy**_ along those lines," Severus said in a vamped up voice. "The Dark Lord has ordered the creation of two camps in the north of Scotland. One for Muggles. It will function like an agricultural exposition," he said with disgust. "A model farm. A symbol of how the Muggles can best serve us.

"The other is for the magical community. Some of those brought there half dead already. The fight of getting them to the camp being what it is. And the Death Eaters are rather sloppy with their cargo. They are not enchanted with this idea of relocating people rather than killing them."

"What does he have you doing?" Minerva asked, carefully.

"I _**run**_ the camps," he merely said.

Minerva drew a breath in, suddenly understanding the haggard look to the man.

"This is troubling," the headmaster finally said. "There must be something the Order can do with out tipping out hand and letting it be known that we are aware of the camps." He pawed at his face in thought for a moment. "But there is good news. With what you told us about Bella Lestrange, we will likely find another Horcrux."

Minerva quickly explained that Bill Weasley was recalled to Gringott's to deal with a suspicious vault.

"It was Bill who was with Hermione," Minerva explained quickly, not knowing how Albus will react to the mention of the girl. "Bill smuggled the visitor logs out and the Weasleys spent a night going through the entries for the passed several months. There were enough visits to suppose the vault is Bella's. And since you overheard Bella saying she had checked on what she had hidden for Voldemort..."

"Then you will have some excitement on your hands," Snape said with a smirk. "You cannot send me this time. If another Horcrux is going to fall, I need to be at the Dark Lord's side when it does."

"I quite agree," the old man said with a curt nod.

"I should go before I am missed," Severus said as he backed away. "It is morning already." But in truth, he had no plans on returning immediately to Malfoy's Manor.

_If Weasley is back, then Hermione will have returned_, Severus thought

////

It was impulsive to seek her out, he thought as he Apparated onto her landing. But it could cover his absence from either his work at the camps or the Manor. Certainly it would be better to be seen here, seeking out his mistress, than at Hogwarts, he reasoned.

But she wasn't home, he quickly realized. And she hadn't been home in weeks he could tell. Out on the street now, he backed away from the shop. Stunned and angry, he replaced his wards on her apartment as he walked. _Gone? How the hell could she still be gone?_

Without even thinking he let his feet steer him from the alley to the main street. Where would he even start to look for her? He had never let her finish telling him about the places she was thinking of visiting. He would have to ask Minerva if he really wanted to know. _And asking Minerva would come at SUCH a high cost_, he fumed to himself

"Severus?" the reluctant voice came. "Are you alright?" It was Arthur Weasley. "You've been standing there a while now, Severus. Just standing. I was across at the boys' shop. I thought I should check on you." Arthur paused then and with a worried look, assessed the potions master. "I am surprised to see you here," Arthur said in a strangely tense voice.

"You don't sound surprised at all Weasley. So, let's just forget this all happened and I will get back to my misery."

"You are the one in the picture with her. The one acting as Hermione's benefactor," Arthur said levelly.

"It doesn't matter, Weasley. Don't you see? It is time to doubt all you think is true. The entire world is spinning out control, for God's sake. Do you know where I have been? Setting up 'new homes' for undesirables. Are you missing any neighbors?" he added, sarcastically.

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the man, beginning to doubt in his sanity more than ever. "And what are you doing here?"

"Obviously, making a mistake." And suddenly, he sounded only tired. Hurt. And he backed up as if to begin to Apparate. But Arthur caught a hold of him.

"And what about Hermione? That's why you are here."

Severus merely groaned.

"And ... how does she feel about this?" Arthur demanded. "And does this mean the father is out of the picture?

"Let go of me, Weasley."

"You are a great deal older than she is, and she is vulnerable. If you are taking advantage of that..."

"Yes, it would be convenient if I were honorable, wouldn't it. That would make your grand standing worth while. But I'm not some fallen angel that can be redeemed by sticky love and a home cooked meal," he spat. He leaned into Arthur now rather than trying to get away. "_**This **_is your last fucking chance to let go of me, Weasley."

To his credit, the elder man stood his ground. Tightened his hold on Severus' coat. "I've known you too long, Severus. I've heard it all before. And frankly I don't know how dark you are, and I don't care if you rot in hell. This is about Hermione. _**Tell me**_ you have her best interests at heart and _**tell me**_ that you have not laid a finger on her," Arthur warned.

With a quick move, Severus broke Arthur's contact with his coat .

"Pick one," Severus droned, sarcastically. And he stepped backwards and Apparated away.

///

Two more days passed and they were getting no closer to getting any concrete answers from Geberic, only vague stories. Hermione's patience was wearing. There had been days now that they had hoped for a clear answer. That something tangible would be produced. And still the Goblin avoided it.

She sank down in the chair across with him. Leaned in to meet and hold his eyes. And her hand came out and lightly touched his sleeve. "Geberic," she whispered. "We, each of us, have to do things we never thought we would. That is the only way we can win. It is the only way that everyone can be safe again. Your family and mine. Please. We are running out of time."

He sighed.

"Come then," he said, wearily. He had made his decision. But Hermione could tell it was one which made him uncomfortable.

He stood now in front of a wooden door at the end of short tunnel off his living room. He fished a key from his vest and placed it in the lock.

"If I am to do all this. Then there is a bond between us, yes? Wizard. Witch. And Goblin." he indicated each of them in turn.

"Yes," Hermione agreed.

"And the next generation will be one of trust. Trust already established."

Hermione did not understand. But worried as the goblin was staring at her belly.

"That boy," he said ominously pointing a finger at her abdomen. "Let Goblins and Wizards alike know that there is good will. And hope for a future where we do not fear each other. As _**soon**_ as they hear of him. As soon as they hear his name," he stressed. "They will know that _**we**_ had hope and acted together. _**Please?"**_ he said lowly, turning his head to peer up at her. He had said it all shyly, as he had said nothing else in the long days they had spent with him.

He looked away then as he reached his hand toward Hermione. She took his hand, feeling as if she was in a dream, and she placed it on her belly. Then she held it there. She felt a fool, but composed her words anyway.

"Little boy," she whispered, while she watched Geberic's expression, "Meet Geberic, our friend. The last of the Keepers. He is going to help us. And help your father."

"Geberic Falko Kobold smed kamrat van" Geberic told her belly. And then he pulled his hand away and sniffed into his sleeve. But as he raised his eyes to them quickly, Bill was struck by the smile on his face. .... Geberic quickly turned then and pushed hard on the wooden door. Once it was opened enough for him to pass through, he shuffled down the tunnel without a look back. A string of foreign phrases echoed off the walls in his wake.

"This is it, Bill. We are finally going to know what's here," Hermione said in an urgent whisper.

"I don't know, Hermione." Bill held his wand like a glowing torch and they pushed through the doorway together. "I don't like this," he hissed. "Look at how long you've been here. All we do is make concessions and entertain this fellow. It's as if.... Well, you don't think that he... is.... trying to keep you here until you actually _**have**_ the baby?"

"He isn't Rumpelstiltskin, Bill."

Bill looked off at the retreating form of Geberic. The Goblin was laughing now.

"Oh, Hermione. Why do I keep getting visions of you sitting in a room spinning straw?"

////

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks for reading. It is getting harder to write HP. But I shan't give up! My poor tiny mind has been taken over by the Seventh Doctor (Who) .... and he does not want to give it over! He tells me he is far cuter than Severus and that his adorable little quirks are worth my devotion. For about a month now, I have been agreeing. :)

_Ela thou!_ means "Come here!" and it is the first thing my husband hears from his Yia Yia when he visits. :)


	36. Chapter 36

A Rose by any other....and a Rodent

///

As they walked the quarter mile through the tunnel, Geberic kept up a steady patter of words and phrases, switching back and forth from English to Gobldegook.

"Friend of the future hours, framtida timmen, a friend to the smiths, kovar, kowal sepp, motuli, gowan goff?" he said, seeming to weigh his own words. "Gundisalv, war goblin? No." And he shook his head. "The future will be much more than that. So much more than that," he added, sounding pleased. And he picked up the pace, saying the different words and phrases over and over as if in question and reply. Hermione was convinced he was arguing with himself, but happily.

She was right.

///

After a gentle dip in the tunnel, it was there: the final door. It was heavy oak and set in a stone wall. Geberic sighed. Lay his hand upon it. Would he back out now, Hermione worried.

"None but Goblins has ever come this way. Not since this tomb was given to us to guard," he told them without taking his eyes off the door.

"You are doing us a very great honor, Geberic," Bill said, bowing slightly. "We have made our promises to you. And we will keep them. Let us help you finish your work as the last of the keepers. Please."

"And you will help me move these things. Keep them safe? Otherwise, it is only a matter of time before these treasures are discovered when the Muggles decide to excavate the barrow."

It was the final promise. The final concession. And they would be through that door.

"Yes, Geberic. What things must be hidden, we will help relocate. We promise," Bill said.

The last bit of waiting was intolerable. Hermione felt her limbs begin to chill with the emotion of it. And then there it was that flop and flutter in her belly. Involuntarily, she covered the spot with hand. Geberic did not fail to notice this.

"Awake is he?" came Geberic's gentle question. "He is ready, too. It is his future we work on."

///

The air was different somehow, she decided at once. Charged. As if air could bristle. The light was dim and diffused. But there should have been none at all, her brain complained, as she looked up at the ceiling of dirt and rock.

In front of them was an arrangement of limestone blocks, placed to resemble a viking ship. It was a 'Shipsetting,' Hermione knew. The center piece to the grouping was a rune-stone, which stood like a mast on the longitudinal axis. She walked toward the setting and then continued on obliquely to view it from the side. It was as if she were in another ship coming up along side that one in the water.

The stones marked out a sharp oval in the barrow's sea of dirt and pebbles. The oval's shape was almost perfect, with the bow and stern fashioned nearly alike. At 'mid-ship,' the stones were lowest. The limestone pieces rose from there, toward the stem and the stern-post, giving the arrangement the famous viking profile that was recognizable even a thousand years later.

As she approached mid ship, she saw that where the helm would stand there was a bier that held a granite coffin. She felt suddenly lacking. Unsure. As if she should cross herself, bow, or tip her wand in salute. There was a trembling. Awe was building in her, not only from the magic should could sense in the ship, but the ideals that she instinctively knew the magic had been pledged for. Like echoes in her brain, she heard it. _Justice. Protection. The right to live without fear. _

"Hermone?" the goblin whispered. "Do you feel something."

"Yes," she nodded eagerly. "What about you Bill?"

"There is something here. Something magical that would... urge us on." His words were searching. uncertain. "Or reassure us. No?" The feeling was actually a great deal stronger in his blood, but he did not want to give it voice. He felt almost foolish. He felt puffed up, he realized. Proud. Eager. Ready to fight for a cause.

"Goblins do not feel these things. And none of your kind has been here for centuries," Geberic said. "But the stories say that heroes will feel the pulse of Beowulf in here, spurring them on."

The Goblin stepped away then, nodding. And he began to recite his long list of words again. He would stop, go back, stopping not just what he was saying, but his own forward progress. Again, he would mutter something to himself. This went on for an hour while Bill and Hermione made a quiet, careful survey of the shipsetting and the limits of the barrow. For all that time, they could hear Geberic, but there was not an intelligible word from him.

"What is it you have been chanting," Hermione asked him finally, as he passed by her back.

She was surprised that she even got an answer. "It is a very difficult process...." he said as he continnued to pace. "It has taken me WEEKS in the past."

"What has?" she asked, but there was no answer. Hermione sidled up to her tall friend and whispered, "What is he doing Bill? IS it magic? Are we safe down here?"

Geberic yelled back to them. "I think I am settled." And he said a phrase over slowly, almost pedantically one more time to them. "Just let me think on it a minute more," he announced, jabbing a single finger toward the ceiling. "Do not interrupt me so much." And he turned away from them, seeming deep in thought.

He stood still now next to the shipsetting. His hand reverently touched a bit of limestone and his eyes were closed. And he alternately tried out the strange words and pouted over them.

Bill listened more intently to the words then and an inkling of understanding came to him. "Oh, Hermione," the red head said, sounding worried. He grabbed her and pulled her closer to whisper frantically. "Remember what he said? You promised. You _**agreed**_. When he said, 'Let everyone know as soon as they see this boy. As soon as they hear his name..."

"Geberic?" Hermione called as she walked toward him. "Geberic!" she said more urgently when he would not answer. "What are you doing?"

"Gundikobhoff Tovenaar Fratildtim," he said, still to himself.

"Just tell me. What are you doing?" Hermione demanded.

"Picking. A. Baby. Name," he said with a smile, laboring over every word as if she was quite slow.

"Gundikobhoff Tovenaar Fratildtim. That means the 'Hope between Goblins and Wizards for the future.'

"Well, it's certainly LONG enough to say all that," Bill chipped in.

"Gundikobhoff Tovenaar Fratildtim," Geberic now said in a little 'tickle the baby' voice as he rubbed her belly. Hermione might as well have not been there for the little she felt a part of this scene. She looked down at the Goblin and wondered at the love and excitement she sensed in him.

She had not thought about naming the baby. She hadn't let herself think that far ahead. Hadn't let herself hope. Her fears, her manic drive, had even made her too hesitant to let herself love the baby with her whole heart. To give him even an imaginary future.

But not Geberic. He loved this baby. Had taken such delight and pride in naming him. And she could not argue at all with the meaning of what he had picked.

"Let us get this work done, yes?" Geberic told them. "Little Gundikobhoff Tovenaar Fratildtim," he said as he patted her belly one last time. And he turned to climb over the low stones at the ship's center.

"Hermione?" Bill asked with a panic stricken whine. He was bracing himself for a storm, as he could only imagine what Fleur would be like if someone had just laid hand on her and named her first born.

"It could be worse," Hermione said with an odd smile. "I'll just call him 'Gundi.'"

Bill considered this, sure that he had heard the word before.... and when it came to him, he tried not to smirk. "Gundi? Hermione, you do know that the Gundi is an African rodent?"

"I don't care. It's cute!" she insisted. And without another look at Bill, she pulled herself over the low stones and walked to join Geberic at the ship's bier.

///

A/N: I have been working so hard. Just not on this fic. Isn't that the saddest thing? I have been pouring out my little heart and brain over at FF's Who-land and I am feeling distinctly unloved. The problem is, I actually spend a bit of time on these silly things (Who things included) and when I write something half way clever, I hope to hear that someone liked it. Only I have been hearing crickets lately. Better than Daleks, mind you. But. Sniff. Nothing but dust bunnies in my in-box. And I put in smooching and EVERYTHING!

Thank you all for reading. Sniff. I'm sorry I strayed...


	37. Chapter 37

A/N: I had this 'odd use of language' love scene sketched out before the conversation I had with _**snakegirl-sprockett**_ about the oddities of language as used by other generations. I then felt even better about having written the scene with Hermoine that way. You may hate it, however. OR just find it well... odd.

Last chapter was, I think, the first time I received a review with two uses of profanity. Go, me! I will be inciting riots next. I do apologize for the last chapter being short. I just could not put cute little Gundi, our pure-as-snow baby, in a chapter with this sex and filth. So, here is your sex and filth. No Goblins. But the warning must be made. Proceed with caution: OLD PEOPLE IN BED AHEAD and then.... well, tense-use-of-strange-language sex.....

///

Minerva pulled the blankets down and then got into bed next to the old Auror. "I've gotten a message from Hermione, Alastor."

"Tell me there is some good news out there," came his gruff reply.

"Although I can scarcely believe what she writes, if it is true, it is _**very**_ good news." She had his attention now, she noticed. "She says they have located Beowulf's armor."

His eyebrows gave away his surprise, but he kept his voice in check. "Indeed. We will see, though, what use there might be in whatever relics she's found. We will have to test it all before we know what we have."

"Oh, Hermione has done that," Minerva said with a proud smile. "You would have to know she would be thorough. All of this makes me think that we should follow up on her other notion... the mound located on the top of Knocknarea, that mountain a few miles west of Sligo Town." There was that bit of lilt to her voice. That hopeful, leading question in it.

He crossed his arms over his chest and feigned exasperation. "Oh, sly girl. Tell me then. Who is it you see going there?" As he sensed them squaring off together, his accent got thicker.

"I thought Seamus Finnegan could go. He knows that area quite well."

Alastor growled. "Oh, how shameless, telling me you'll send the boy on his own. You are trying to get me to volunteer now, aren't you?"

She rested a hand on his forearm for a moment and did her best to stare up at him as a love sick country girl might. "Would there be a way that might happen, Mr. Moody?" she asked, acting shyer and more vapid than any man had ever seen her.

"There might. And it does not involve a 'Mr. Moody.' Just this Auror... and the woman who torments him."

"Torments you? Oh, please. Who torments _**you**_?" she said sounding like Minerva McGonagall again.

"You. Lying there. Not touching me. Not kissing me. Hinting you are going to send me away. Again." How he managed to make his words part challenge and part dour complaint, she didn't know. And it wasn't as if he had a mind to do anything but be as helpful to the Order as he could. He just needed to complain about it. And to her.

"Well, I do want you to come back, you fool old man," she told him with exasperation.

"Ah! And now its name calling.... and not an inch closer, I notice."

"Oh, dratted man. You always get your way, I've noticed." And she kicked the covers down to free her legs. Then she hitched up her nightgown so that she could climb into his lap. He sat facing her with his arms still crossed over his chest. Pretending to be neither surprised nor interested that a 70 year old witch was sitting on him, running a finger inside the open placket of his nightshirt. "If anyone can talk the ghost of Queen Maeve out of her treasures, it would be the man who talks me out of my knickers."

"Aye, and who would that be then, that's after your knickers, as _**I've**_ been away for two weeks?" He was pouting a bit, adding some drama to their exchange. It felt so good to be playful that Minerva could not contain the smile that pulled at her mouth. This was their audacious private world. No one, she knew, would ever imagine the pair of them like this. And that made it all the sweeter.

"Who indeed would be after my knickers," she tsk'd at him. Then she took his large hand in hers and creeped it up her thigh until it was under the hem of her gown. She pulled it higher still, until there was no doubt that there was no further clothing to be found there.

"You really have lost them?! What sort of senility is this, Woman?"

"Senility?! It was you. And that honey in your voice," she told him as her fingertip traced a line from his lips down his throat. "You charmer. It was as if my undergarments were just_** hexed**_ off me. All the ones in my drawer are gone as well, I've noticed."

He bit his lip to stop his laugh, because he _**had**_ stolen all but one pair of knickers from her drawer when Albus had ordered him to London. But this was the first she had complained... she had not wanted to give him the satisfaction of noticing his prank, he knew. "Well, my girl, THAT is what you get for letting Albus send me off. And now you want me to run off to Ireland with some spotty boy? Do you know what that means?" he teased, as his hand ghosted between her legs.

"Mmm. I do fear it means I will be without my knickers for quite a while."

"And, it means that you will not need them until I leave."

His broad hand cupped her bottom now. And with a determined grunt, he managed to roll the two of them over so that she was pinned beneath him.

"Show off," she whispered.

"I'll bring you some pretty panties back from Ireland.... _**if**_ you're good."

She answered him with a subtle shift. A movement of legs. A tilting of her hips that caught him just so and made him sigh. Her hand slid to his hip then and pressed him more firmly to her. It was a masterful, playful taunt.

"Silly man," she sang at his ear. "I'm _**always**_ good."

////

Being reunited with Severus was not the scene Hermione had let herself imagine. There was no rush to embrace. There was no declaration of love. And there certainly were no flowers. Standing there, on the far side of her open door, Severus looked like a broken shadow.

The change in him physically was obvious and painful. He had lost weight. He had not cut his hair. Or likely tended his appearance at all in the weeks she had been gone. His cheeks were gray, and the never-healing scar was just as striking.

It was the look to his eyes that was the most frightening. For Hermione, it was like being near a wounded animal.

She drew him gently and wordlessly over her threshold with a touch to his sleeve. She didn't dare leap at him. Or pull at him or kiss him. Once she had pushed the door closed behind him, she said lowly, "I missed you. Just really missed you." And she passed a hand over his arm. She squeezed his hand gently. And feeling no response in him, she let her grasp fall to the side.

He took a step away, leaning his back into the bit of bare wall next to her door.

"The whole world has changed since you left. Do you know that?" It was such a strange, bitter comment. And he threw it at her like an accusation. "Have you seen any of the Daily Prophet since you went away?"

"No," she said, softly. She made the decision then not to feed his mood. She walked to the center of her apartment's main room and continued to unpack the backpack on her table with quick wand strokes.

"I am decidedly a Dark Wizard," he called out. And she spared him a glance and caught the unhappy, little smile. He had intended it as something menacing, perhaps. But he couldn't manage it, she saw.

"You mean, that is how you have been portrayed," she stressed.

"Albus' sins have all been replayed in light of his inability to control me. It is fairly open knowledge now. I have operated as a Death Eater all these years from with in Hogwarts, and he is too impotent to do ANYTHING about it. They have even dragged up all the shame of the Head Girl getting pregnant on his watch. How that never would have happened when he had been whole. Before his mind and body were spent. Broken on his wasted vendetta against the Dark Lord.

"There are rumors now, in the castle. Boasts," he said. "Mostly, it is what the younger Malfoy and his followers feel emboldened now to say to those in their circle. That I have made use of you on the Dark Lord's orders."

She took slow steps to approach him now, but knew to keep her distance. She knew not to touch him. He was seething, barely held together. "That doesn't matter to me. You can't think it would, surely," she said, evenly.

He spoke in softer tones now that she stood closer, and he turned his face half away. "The Dark Lord has tighter control over the Board of Directors since his attacks went so well. His puppet Malfoy chose the replacements. The same method has seen him gain control of the Wizengamot. He has only placed 3 new members this month. But the fear?" And here Severus forced a hurtful laugh. "The fear is complete."

"Tell me what happened to _**you**_," she implored him. "You wrote me nothing but that you were alive. That everything was all right." It was not a complaint about the weeks of silence before she had received that single missive. It was her hope that he could know, now and always, that she cared about _**him**_.

"I've been back at Hogwarts a week, but I barely teach," he said with a shrug. "The Carrows have been brought in to manage many of my classroom duties which is obviously ridiculous. But it was necessary that my time be freed up."

He trailed off, deciding that he would tell her nothing else. She could see he was starting to close down even more. To pull all the way inside himself.

She had had enough of his desolation. His moods. The self-destruction and self-sacrifice. How he could stand to be locked up inside himself when he was like this, she didn't understand.

He began to turn away from her. To shut her out. As if he could make her invisible.

"Stop it," she told him vehemently.

"I am not doing...." he growled.

She walked away from him not looking back until she was in her bedroom. "It's late," she said, flatly. "Get in bed."

"What is it you..." he began to complain as he followed her.

"Just stop! Just lie down," she told him emphatically. And she stalked across her room, pulling at the buttons on her shirt. It briefly occurred to the pair of them that her own mood was just that far gone that she would talk to him in that manner. Like no one would ever dared to.

Once he had sat down on the edge of her bed, she walked over and stood in front of him, as if she would prevent him leaving should he try. She didn't move to touch him. She just worked her way out of her shirt in mute, expressionless fashion.

"What..." he began.

She leaned in and lay a light kiss to his lips and he pulled away with a growl. "Quiet," she told him.

"Leave me be," he told her. But she was no longer touching him. She had just sat down next to him to finish taking off her maternity trousers. His complaint seemed suddenly hollow. Forced. Ridiculous.

She tossed the trousers toward the hamper and crawled to the far side of the bed.

He groaned his dissatisfaction and lay down on the bed.

"Shut up," she said in a crooning, soothing sort of voice. Being with him now was all incongruity and miss starts and odd fits. That defined them now, she realized. But she was sure it hadn't defined the whole of their actions together. She remembered things having been so much better. Times when they had managed to keep the world out of their bedroom.

But at this moment, nothing was quite right. And perhaps it would be like that now that everything seemed more desperate. Perhaps the war would leave them ill fitting, chaffing. They were two difficult, unyielding souls. It might be that that feeling of disconnect versus attraction was the best they could manage. It was better, she knew, than what either had managed alone. They should just take it. But he could not see that.

With frustration and temper, she pushed at his shirt. "Does it have to control us? Ruin the little that is good?" she demanded. She ran her hand over the skin of his chest and leaned into him. Surprised him when she licked at his nipples. He hissed and jerked away. Pulling back, she saw his eyes pinched closed, saw his face tense further. "Relax," she told him, as she pushed him firmly to the mattress.

"I'm trying..." he grumbled.

"Shut up," she said, in the same tone that she would normally use for, _'I love you.'_ Her hands unhooked his belt and pulled the zipper open. "Just stop," she told him. Slowly then, she bent to kiss at the small triangle of flesh she had bared.

With rough hands, she pushed open his trousers as far as she could and then slid a hand inside. He was warm. _And, oh, is he hard_, her brain supplied. It made her weak as she registered it, reacquainted herself with it.

"Almost a whole month," he grumbled. "All those weeks... in Sweden?"

"For God's sake, shut up," she begged, sounding short tempered. She pulled hard at his trousers and he rolled his hips to be of help. She let out an audible sigh when he finally succeeded in kicking them off the end of the bed.

"You are the one who is talking so much," he said, bitterly. He cautiously laid a hand to her bare shoulder, and guided her towards him so that she was lying with him.

He was intent. His attention riveted by the sight of her skin passing under his finger tips. His brain suddenly consumed with cataloging the corresponding sensations. With an even speed, he trailed his fingers from her shoulder to her breast. Not paying any more attention to one bit or another despite how he made her shiver. And then, he lightly pulled his touch across her swollen belly and without even pausing he pushed his fingers to rest between her thighs.

He moved his glance to her face. And with a thin smile, he watched her head tip back. Watched half formed words get lost, never making it past her lips.

"You missed me," he accused, as his fingers found a welcome.

"Every day," she groaned. "I missed you every day. I think I touched myself almost every night wanting you." Her hand joined his then and urged him deeper.

Her words made his heart leap into his throat, and the rest of him swell to perfection. Her display was wanton, even more brazen than the fantasies that had been his only companion. The woman was shameless and all of it over him, he marveled.

"Every night?" he asked.

And she took her wet fingers and wrapped them around him. He moaned, unable to follow the line of questioning he had started.

"I swear," she groaned, "you are harder than you've ever been."

"Shut up," he said to tease her, but she wasn't listening. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was ragged. She was so close already. "Let me hear you," he then begged, unaware of his own contradiction.

///

Hours later, they had showered and tumbled back into bed together. He'd been quiet. Reticent. The tight way he held his lips was almost painful to watch.

"Hold me?" she asked with a whisper. And she kissed him lightly, touching her fingers along with her mouth to his lips. She rolled over in his arms, pulled him just a little tighter to her back. And told him, "I love you, Severus. So much. So much it's not real."

Something lightened in him. Lifted. Loosened. And he felt his words tumble out. It was confession and lament to the only person he could ever let himself completely confide in. "I create and manage the camps," he whispered at her back. "The places that the 'disappeared' go to... if they are lucky. The ones that Malfoy and Crabbe and Goyle don't just kill out right. Justin Finch-Fletchley's parents were brought there last week. Other muggles. Many are connected to the students. Or to Dumbledore. I do not worry too much how they are chosen. I house them like they are files in a file drawer. We work them. And we poke and prod at them... And we tell the Dark Lord how superior we are.

"And then there is a camp for magical persons. Some we may ransom in the future. Or we may merely abuse them. Lord this over them. Congratulate ourselves more and more..."

"I trust you," she said in reply. Simple words. Reassurance. It was given as firm fact, that she believed in him and stood by what he needed to do even in the worst of situations.

"You should be more careful with your trust," he said, bitterly. "Look where your trust of the Headmaster has gotten you." His words did not reflect what he really believed and felt perhpas. Not anymore. Not after all these months together. But they reflected his vile mood. His petulance and his buried rage. "He as good as gave you to me. Handed you over, young and virginal. Let you ruin your life. And made me responsible for you."

She took him by surprise when she suddenly twisted in his arms. She moved on top of him then to pin him down. "From where I stood, I was fairly certain he was giving me _**you**_," she said. "All of you," and she let her hips grind against him to explain that bit to him quite clearly. She was suddenly more serious. "He brought me into that room. It was a very purposeful thing. Even then I knew it. I could feel it, see it. It was part of his ploy. But that only made me realize how desperate the Headmaster was. How much he needed me to take you on. To help safeguard you.

"You were still bruised," she told him. "They'd left your torn and bloody clothes there by your bed. Dumbledore could have had the discussion with me anywhere. But he brought me there. To see you unconscious and hurt. Even your breathing was not quite right. Shallow," she said as she ran a hand over his thin chest. "Your ribs must have been broken and freshly mended, I realized."

"He set you up."

"I know," she said, firmly with a nod. "I knew it then, Severus. It only went into the calculation."

"Was it all just calculation, Miss Granger?"

"No." But she would tell him no more. Her face changed and her hand rose up to pet him gently on the cheek.

"You do not want to say it," he accused, as he grabbed at her hand to stop her. "Albus wanted you to _**pity**_ me and that is exactly what happened when you saw me."

"No," she said with a surety that stilled him. "Before that night, I may have admired you for your bravery. Your skill. Or your intelligence. But you were never quite human to me. And that night, you could not move or hide. You were what you never are, what I think you never want to be: You were still. Reliant. You became a man to me then, quite simply."

"You would damn me with faint praise."

She leered at him . "Oh, I have not even begun to _**shout**_ your praises."

///


	38. Chapter 38

**A/N: Sorry to be so long writing this. Thank you all for continuing to read this. And thanks for all the reviews.**

**I am not sure what is up with Luna in this chapter. She just walked in and wrote that bit herself, I swear. I think she has been reading my WHO fic. There is an odd similarity happening there.**

* * *

Hermione had rendered him speechless. It made her grin to consider it. Beowulf's mail was spread out on her bed, and Severus was scanning it with his eyes. But otherwise, the man was seemingly paralyzed. She knew, however, his brain would be moving a mile a minute.

"That weave," he said, finally.

"Yes," she agreed.

"Distinctive. It certainly _**looks**_ authentic for the era, the makers, and the locale you are claiming. And the makers we are speaking of here would be obviously goblins. I am frightened to even ask, what is the going price then for ancient, goblin-made armor?

"Oh, you would not believe the price," she said with a bit of cheek. There was really no other way to go about this. She was in over her head. She might as well avail herself of some momentary false bravado.

"Who bankrolled this folly?"

"First, Severus. A little respect. This is no folly. This is not just goblin-made... This _**is**_ Beowulf's armor."

He scoffed. "Please. Such a thing would be impossible to obtain."

"Obviously not. It is tested. Curse and hex resistant. Dragon proof. You name it. As the Muggles say, 'And only one owner!!' Although this is much more impressive than a used car. I walked the tunnel myself, Severus. I stood there in the middle of a Viking shipsetting. There was a stone bier and under it.... this and his sword."

She could tell he was beginning to waver. His attack would need to shift, she perceived with a faint smile of enjoyment. "Let us not forget that Beowulf, if this is his armor, died wearing it," he protested.

"Let the _**professor**_ not forget that goblin-made armor is improved by those things it encounters."

He made no reply to that. He studied it with a hand to his chin now, clearly itching to lay hands on it for academic reasons, if no other.

"I still can not believe that Minerva would bankroll such a thing."

"She didn't."

"Oh, it was free?" he asked, sarcastically. "You found this unprotected? Unclaimed?"

"I didn't say that. And I really do not think you care, do you?" she challenged.

"Oh, you have just ensured that I do!" And he crossed his arms slowly over his chest and stared at her intently. "So, reading between the lines, there was a goblin involved. No offense, but you are no match for goblin negotiating. What did he take you for?" Severus asked with a smirk.

"Well... he wanted to hear a lot of stories."

Severus looked very confused. Surprised. And disappointed.

"Geberic, the goblin Keeper we met, is a very lonely sort," Hermione continued with a sly shrug. "And he made us promise that we would help with relocating everything belonging to Beowulf so that he could be relieved of his duties later. Bill will arrange a vault at Gringotts at some point," Hermione said nonchalantly. "And, well, we are only borrowing the sword and the armor. They will be returned."

"I can tell you are hiding something," he insisted. "You paid some exorbitant sum, didn't you? Your life savings."

"No. But something rather more permanent."

"What?!"

"Geberic has named the baby," she said, as levelly as she could manage.

The pause was interminable. Was it surprise? Perverse amusement? Anger?

"Named him what?!"

"Gundikobhoff Tovenaar Fratildtim," she blurted out. "I thought I'd call him 'Gundi.'"

For a full minute there was no sound in the apartment.

"Say something," she whispered. "You are scaring me."

"What would I possibly say? I have no grounds to object, do I? No one even consulted me when the child was _**created**_. The chances I will live to see him born or grow to any important age are slim. And my parents named me 'Severus.' Gundikobhoff ... whatever the rest of it was... is no worse.

"Do you think the child will be _**teased**_ for it?" he asked, rhetorically. "You can't doubt that some will try, but I have taken the time to consider this boy's inheritance, Hermione. Given his parentage, I suspect he will be bright, entirely too good at taking risks, possibly incuribly stubborn. And if raised by you it is likely he will manage a few social graces.

"He has the production stamp of 'Albus Dumbledore: Greatest Wizard of the Age' on his buttocks. He will rest in a cradle made and tended by Hagrid, legendary half-giant. No doubt tucked in under McGonagall tartans, while suffering through a Weasely lullaby," he said, snidely. "The Boy-Who-Lived will be his favorite uncle. A goblin name can only add to the mystique. There will be the notion that he carries hidden protections." Severus ended with a uncharacteristic looking shrug.

He would not say the next part out loud, because he viewed their situation as one that would fall apart with any post-war normalcy. Should he even survive to see a post-war world, she would not want to be with him. The false little construct of Dumbledore's would fall apart, and she would see him in a true light again. She would want to be back with that circle of friends she had been on a path to building a life with before.

But _**none**_ of that meant that he would deny his son his protection.

_If I am alive no one, **no one, **will think of mistreating him._

///

The following night there was a welcomed ping at Hermione's windows. Pulling aside the curtain, she saw the twins beaming up at her with impossibly wide smiles. "_Thank goodness_," she thought as she reached for her coat. "_Good news._"

"We didn't want to celebrate alone," George explained as he opened the door to the back room on their shop.

"Hell, mum and dad told us not to celebrate at all," Fred laughed.

Hermione considered that she had plenty of reason to celebrate as well, and so happily took the chair she was offered. She smiled as she sat down thinking how the armor was with Severus now. It was, as best she knew, even on him.

George grabbed the dark bottle of champagne from the table and began to wrestle with it.

"No alcohol for me," Hermione warned, as Fred produced the glasses.

"Oh, fine. Just smell the cork, though. Otherwise I'll feel like I've wasted my Galleons," George said with a wicked look.

"Ha! You pinched that bottle from Dad's cellar!" Fred shot back. Hermione laughed and put her feet up on an unused chair.

And just then the bottle yielded up its cork to all of their cheers.

George lifted his glass, "To Harry, Ron, and Tonks..."

"And the incomparable Weaselys! Without whom, none of this would have worked," Fred finished.

"What worked?" Hermione objected.

"Another you-know-what..." George said.

"Belonging to you-know-who," Fred added.

"Has been destroyed," George said, bowing.

"With our help," Fred slipped in, also bowing.

"A Horcrux?" Hermione asked, excitedly.

"Yes. The Diadem at Gringotts. It took all night. Mum was on guard. Bill, Harry, Ron and Tonks were the inside crew. And all of it had to be done without any help from the goblins, as they will not take sides. And we were in charge of all the fakes and distractions required inside and outside of the bank to pull it off. Quite a lot of little distractions and such, I will tell you," Fred said.

"I saw nothing in the paper," Hermione said, thinking any Weasley twin "distraction" would certainly make the Daily Prophet.... front page.

"You will not believe this, Hermione. We are experimenting with the idea that less is more," George told her.

"No!" she replied sarcastically.

"Yes. Little distractions. Adding shapes. Drawing eyes away. Showing people what they want to see. Creating impressions. Illusions. But not panic. It is an art, if I do say so myself," George boasted.

"So, Hermione, how many Horcruxes are left?" Fred asked.

"All I know is that this means things have changed. Voldemort cannot look at the war the same at all anymore. It is not as if he would ever sit around and let us whittle away all of the pieces of Horcrux. And each one lost is going to make him feel more and more unstable. He will want to strike back..."

Suddenly, the mood was a bit more somber.

///

The odd pair stood undercover of darkness and magic now, just outside the entrance that Moody had cleared to the mound.

"Do you even know what we are after, lad?" Alastor asked Seamus when the boy called the treasure they sought "that thing" for the third time. It had been a long trip to the mound outside of Sligo Town from both participant's point of view. Moody reigned in his temper and willed himself to breath more evenly.

"It is called the Gae Bulga," Seamus said. "But I don't know much about what it is supposed to be," he admitted.

Alastor groaned. "The Gae Bulga," he said in a whisper, "is a fearsome harpoon with retractable barbs. It was given by Scathach, the warrior woman, to Aoife who Cúchulainn conquered while in the service of Scathach. So, it passed into his ownership when Aoife was defeated, finally coming to rest with the queen. Queen Medb. The Gae Bulga has thirty barbs made from the bones of a sea monster. No man can stand against this weapon. None." And with that final word, Alastor began to train his staff defensively on the interior of the tunnel that led into the hill. "Your wand, boy. We could stand some light," he said, quickly. And Seamus fumbled to obey.

"You are a Gryffindor," Alastor said without looking at the young man.

"Aye," was the strong answer.

"Still, I need to know the likelihood of you wetting yourself and running off to leave me in here."

Seamus stopped forcing Alastor to stop as well to keep with the light. "That chance would be nil, sir. As I'm not just a Gryffindor. I'm a Finnigan."

Alastor smiled hard to himself. "Of course, man. Of course. On we go then."

It was only another 25 yards in, that the narrow tunnel was flanked by a pair of skeletons. The remains lay crumpled in their armor to either side of the opening.

"We are close," Alastor said. "These poor souls are the queen's guard. We must be just outside her throne room. Her burial place."

"Some guard," Seamus said, in a fit of gallows humor. "Lying in a heap like that."

There was the most horrible wailing at that statement. And grey, ghostly figures rose up from the piles of bones, slowly, as if just waking.

"Have you no sense, Finnigan, that you would mock the dead?! I should have brought a dog with me for all the smarts you have, damn it."

Now roused, the ghosts dove at the pair of living intruders, sounding and moving like enraged freight trains. The spectures passed through them and then darted through the entrance to what Moody guessed was the queen's resting place.

"I hate that," Alastor grumbled, as a shiver passed through him. Seamus, for his part, knew not to say a word.

Inside the throne room something began to glow and move in front of them. Slowly, it took on a clearer form, appearing as a crowned woman in flowing robes.

"Are you a wizard?" she asked, commandingly of Moody.

"I am, My Lady. Alastor Moody, I am called."

"And you would rob me, why?" came the specter's theatening tones.

"I would not _**rob**_ you, My lady," he said, bowing as low as his ungainly frame would allow. "I would seek the assistance of your legendary weapons.... _**if **_the legends are true?" he said with a touch of the devil's own talent for beguilement.

"They are, Wizard. If you _**are**_ a Wizard," she accused. "For certainly, the power and magic I wielded would not be forgotten by my magical brethren."

"You are not forgotten, My Lady. And in our time of trouble we seek your assistance."

"The mannerless boy," she said cutting him off. "Is he your squire?"

"Aye," came the displeased sounding answer. "A countryman of ours. A young warrior in our fight."

And a ghostly hand cupped Seamus under the chin.

He displayed none of the shiver he no doubt felt, Alastor noted with approval.

"Tell me your name, boy."

"Seamus Finnigan," he said, his Adam's apple plumbing his throat reflexively.

"You are not from _**Ulster**_ are you, boy?"

"No. No," Moody cut in quickly, knowing the ancient queen's hatred and fear of those from the north.

"From here, Mi' Lady," Seamus said, bowing lower. "Sligo."

"And Wizard Moody," the queen demanded. "You fight for what?

"I fight evil for it to end," he said, plainly. "That I might rest."

"And... for a lady?" the queen wondered, intently.

"If I am lucky," Moody answered nodding his head and finishing with a bow. "If I am lucky, and the Dark Wizard is defeated and the castle is safeguarded, I can return to life with my lady. Yes."

The ghost smiled wickedly, enjoying the tale.

But her face turned serious then. "Is there anything you would not do for this lady and her castle?"

"I would do most anything," he admitted, simply.

"Tell me then, what it is you want."

"It will take a powerful weapon and much magic to kill the Dark Lord, Queen. I can think of no other weapon that is up to the task than the Gae Bulga. The thing we face is barely a man anymore. He has replaced his human features one by one with wickedness. Ridding our world of him will be a legendary and worthy test of the harpoon." He floated this last bit out as if there was some doubt the queen's possession would be up to the task.

"Times must be desperate, if you would doubt the Gae Bulga."

"Forgive me, Mi Lady," he said, lowering his head. "Things are desperate."

"Stand closer, Wizard Moody. You intrigue me."

The ghost of Queen Medb passed her scepter over Moody, bathing him in light. The fingers of her other hand moved over his face.

"What magic is..." Moody began.

"I would _**know**_," she answered, implying she could and would read his scars. Pull his stories and battles from him. He flinched realizing what she was after.

"Do not hide. An unpretentious man. You would seek no glory from your deeds. But I will know at least _**this**_." And with that hissed word, she had him spell bound and unresisting. She traced a single scar, the longest mark on his face that ran from his hair line to his chin. The wound that had cost him his eye.

The wound tingled and burned under her touch. Alastor felt and saw the memory of the fight that had left him maimed.

_The battle was lost and he had stayed behind. He would not leave. The fallen Aurors might still be alive. Might. If he could get the Death Eaters to back off. _

_Go, damn it._ _I'll not quit. _

_And he continued firing, moving when he could, to get closer to the Aurors who were down. In his memory, he knew of course, what was coming. The pair of blasts that would lay him out, paralyzed and helpless. At the mercy of a merciless enemy. There loomed over him that Death Eater's mask, the wand perilously close to his eye. "Remember me, Moody," the final words before the searing pain. And it was over._

The queen backed away and nodded at the man before her.

"There is something here. Something besides the Gae Bulga that I would lend you. Men like you. Brave men trouble me now that I have nothing but time to think and remember. If I gave you armor you would no doubt give it to another and risk your life just the same. You think nothing of your own life.

"Not nothing, Mi Lady..." he objected, weakly.

"Kneel, Moody!" came the queen's piercing command then.

Leaning heavily on his staff, he lowered himself onto his prosthetic knee and bowed his head. Beside him Seamus knelt and held his breath, daring only to steal a glance at the queen from under his lashes.

She reached behind her and drew out what looked more like a loose, golden web than armor. It began to glow and lose its shape as it floated now toward Alastor. With one hand, she seemed to command it to hover over him and with her scepter she placed it on him, touching his shoulders as if knighting him. Sparks rose up from the wizard's old coat and the web of armor settled on him and then disappeared.

The armor, his protection from the queen, was now magically woven into the length of his garment.

**///**

In the Room of Requirement, Neville now spent at least two hours a day with his ancient sword. He had brought with him texts from the library on fencing, ancient weapons, and tactics. He paced and hefted the sword while he read. He moved in a manner he did not realize was reminiscent of Snape's walk through the castle with Gryffndor's sword. He could stab and thrust with speed and strength now. He could even throw the small sword and pierce the straw dummy he had made. Sweating and winded with the efforts of this work out, he knelt on one knee before he re-called the sword from ten yards off.

"Neville!" Luna yelled with relief.

And while he kept his eyes on the sword that was moving to him, his concentration faltered for a moment. The sword's flight wavered. The tip grazed the stone floor and ricochet up. Neville managed to grab the hilt but the tip still barely caught him across the cheek.

He felt foolish and embarrassed to have her see him fumble the sword. He had been coming to the Room of Requirement in secret, not wanting anyone to see the awkward process of his learning to work with the xiphos.

He hung his head and touched his free hand lightly to the small wound on his cheek.

"I'm sorry, Neville. That was stupid of me. I am so sorry."

"No," he said, sullenly. "I should be able to control it no matter what."

"You've had the sword a very short amount of time. The amount of control you have already is very impressive."

He looked at her quizzically. Wondering how she knew all of these things.

"I see things, Neville. I pay attention. I know you brought that back from your trip to see your family. I researched the lore behind enchanted Greek weapons."

"But how did you find me? I let the Room know I wanted to be hidden."

"But I let the Room know that what I _**really, really**_ needed was to see you, Neville." She knelt down with him now and pulled his hand from his cheek so she could inspect the small cut. "You've been avoiding me."

"I've been here. Getting ready."

"I've missed you. I've missed spending time with you." And she bent her head down to sneak under his defensive posture. Worked her lips up to his and kissed him.

His shirt was damp to the touch. But she didn't mind. She pulled at the placket, worked it further open, to lay her hand over his heart.

"Haven't you wanted to see me?" she asked.

"That's not it," he protested in between kisses. "I didn't think I mattered to you. Really mattered."

"Because I notice other things?" she laughed. "Because you don't get my undivided attention?" She kissed him hard then leaving him breathless. "That's just me, Neville. I notice a lot of things. Because, I'm getting ready, too. But you are the only man I notice... like this." She kissed him again. And he groaned in reply. "The only one I think about." And she grabbed the top of his trousers and pulled his hips in. "The only one I want."


	39. Chapter 39

**A/N: I ask your patience for this if it is a little strange. It was written under the influence of Aleve and Benadryl. It has been a tough week. Or two.**

* * *

A remarkable journey over, the unlikely pair returned to their castle. Odd that the one felt he had grown, been made older, while the other knew he had regained some youth.

Seamus heard the old Auror laugh under his breath behind him. He turned and found himself staring. Again.

"What is it, Finnigan?" Moody gruffly demanded.

"Nothing, sir." But that wasn't true. Moody's scar had been removed by the ghost's touch, Seamus was sure of it. The long horrible mark was replaced by smooth, unblemished skin. And the sight of it kept drawing Seamus's eye.

The Seventh Year hefted the harpoon over his shoulder and walked faster to avoid the unpredictable wizard.

"We are putting that in the Headmaster's office," Alastor called ahead to him.

"Yes, sir," Seamus replied, barely looking back.

...

Feeling full of piss and vinegar, the old Auror burst through the Deputy Headmistress' office door. The poor witch jumped hearing the door crash against the wall. He laughed then as he closed it, making it ever so much worse for himself. With a hand to her chest, she glowered at her lover.

"Please, Alastor!" she scolded.

"Yes, My Lady," he told her, cheekily. He moved to her quickly, throwing his staff to the couch and rounding her desk with a speed that surprised her.

He leaned over her, his hands on the arms of her chair. "Your task is done," he told her in a throaty voice. "How else might I please you?" And not waiting for an answer, the man closed the distance between them with artful slowness, before kissing her well and hard.

As he eased back from her, her eyes fluttered open and she smiled at last. Forgiving him yet again. But then the smile faded as she raised her hand to his cheek. She traced the path where the scar had been with her thumb.

"You missed me," he said in response to the tender treatment.

"It's not that," she said, quietly. "Have you not looked in a mirror or has no one told you?"

"I am not one for mirrors, Minerva," he ground out.

"What sort of magic have you been into, Alastor Moody? Your scar is gone. Who did this?"

He pinched his brows together and traced his face with his own hand. "The queen, I suppose," he said. "She wanted to know something. Touched me there. It burned like the dickens. It felt like she was doing more harm than good to be sure. Odd that," he said, rubbing at the smooth skin some more. "Still not to worry, Min. Plenty of scars left." He smiled broadly then. "Stand up, woman. Let me kiss you properly. Let me put my arms around you!" His voice was lusty. His grin infectious. And she found herself on her feet and in his arms against her better judgment.

The kiss was sweet and full of missing her. And his words were honey. "Nothing," he murmured into her hair, "reminds me of how much I love you, as being away." And his hands slowly traveled her sides. With the second pass, she felt the change to his touch. His fingers pressed now with an urgency that made her search his eyes.

"If it be a convenient time, my lady, I would take my reward now," he purred.

He was serious, she saw. "Alastor," she questioned as he maneuvered her against the desk. "I love you madly. But you're insane. I have 45 minutes until I'm due in class and..." She was going to have to do more than talk, she saw, or he'd have her undressed before she got the next full sentence out. He had already managed to heft her on to the desk and work her skirts up. She continued to say his name, but his answer was to step between her legs and snug her tight against him.

As she registered the clothed hardness he pressed against her, she felt a tingle run through her. An involuntary prayer spilled from her in Gaelic.

"I'll answer that prayer now, love. If you'll let me." And he kissed her then and nipped at her neck.

And she let him. Truth be told, she urged him on with her fingers and her hissed words. He paced his touches. Flicking open a button with each kiss.

_Madness,_ she reminded herself, as she heard a pile of essays slide from the desk. But she lay back anyway and arched up to press toward his mouth.

He placed an arm beneath her back and the other, she knew, was unhooking his trousers.

He teased her then. Made her wait. Until with hands, heels, and hips she pleaded her case.

It seemed fast. A quick jaunt to bliss and back. She frankly wasn't sure about the timing at all. It had tripped all the right buttons, that she knew. Fired every needy synapse. She had seen them all go, one after the other, like roman candles behind her eyelids.

She may have passed out then for all she was aware. It all came back to her slowly. The hardness of the desk. His name half formed on her lips. His breath on her neck.

It was a concession to his age and injuries that he sat himself in her chair before gathering her up into his lap. It was a tad less gallant, but she didn't mind. He cradled her against his chest and sighed.

"What time is it?" she whispered, when she was more able.

He found the time piece hooked to her open bodice and laughing slightly, he snapped it open to hold it in front of her eyes.

"15 minutes, oh goodness," she said, sounding rather limp. She kissed him and then got herself to her feet. "I am too old for this, Alastor." But her words were at odds with her smile and the loving way she pushed at his hair.

"Obviously not."

She tried to glare at him as she worked to fix her buttons. "Thank goodness it is the sixth years I have next. I couldn't face a classroom full of little innocents right now." After a good deep breath and a hand to her forehead, she walked to her rooms to tidy up.

"Five minutes," she said as she walked back into the office. "Alastor. Hate me for saying this, if you want. But while I'm in class I want you to go see Poppy and have her check you for any sort of residual magic you may have brought back. Call Filius, too."

"Minerva," he complained, drawing out the syllables.

"Dear, are you telling me you feel completely normal?"

"I feel fantastic. Yes."

"Alastor Moody does not feel 'fantastic.' Oh, he doesn't complain, but he doesn't... well, burst into a room at lightning speed, sweep me off my feet and onto a _**desk top**_, for God sake and....

"Please you, thoroughly?" he suggested. "Ravage you. Render you speechless?" he said with a saucy roll to his rs.

She checked her hair in the mirror and checked her watch again. "Yes, Alastor. All of those." She looked at the man's shameful grin and sighed. "If you won't go see Poppy, at least stay out of trouble for an hour."

He chuckled and spun around in her chair, as she watched from the door way. "Oh, mercy," she said, as she closed the door on her way out.

///

Poppy's inability to find anything other than the obvious healing to Alastor's face was frustrating Minerva.

"It was Queen Meave he went to see," Minerva insisted. "The Lusty Queen? The Queen Witch? The one who had rites of intoxication and sex for choosing her husbands. But you tell me there is nothing you can find on him."

"It's all a myth," Alastor complained from his place on the exam table. "Or a series of myths, Minerva. Dozens of women named Meave through history and all the sloppy tall tales about them have been rolled into one that's not fit for a barroom or a brothel. And none of them true."

"Filius?" Minerva asked, looking for back up.

"I can't find anything, Min. No charms, no curses on him."

"It would be what you call a 'blessing,' not a curse, though," Alastor said under his breath and he winked to Filius.

"Does anyone see what I am talking about?" Minerva complained, as she reddened.

"Well, have someone else return the weapon to Maeve when it is time. Don't let Alastor go," Filius said quite seriously.

"Why, then? So YOU can go?" Alastor asked.

The Charms Professor looked up from his shoes. "And why not, Alastor!" Now Filius winked. And then gave up a cough that tried to sound embarrassed. And with that the small man backed up for the door. "Purely for scientific reasons, ladies. I assure you." And with a giggle he was gone.

"Men. Act like boys half time," Poppy said.

"Boys?! Oh, hell!" Minerva shouted, as if struck by a realization.

"What is it, Min?" Poppy asked.

"Seamus Finnigan! Oh Lord, if the queen has managed this with a man Alastor's age, what might Mr. Finnigan be up to right now?"

Alastor slid ably from the exam table and slapped it as he let out a joyous, chesty laugh.

///

Professor Snape's late arrival at breakfast the next morning did not go unnoticed.

"See what I told you," Malfoy said. And he said it too loudly. Broadcasting for the benefit of his Slytherins and the Gryffindors behind him. "Professor Snape just rolled out of a certain Head Girl's bed. And she's was _**Head**_ Girl for a reason."

"Oh, how original, Malfoy," Ginny Weasley said over her shoulder with disgust.

"Jealous, Weasley? Wish it was you, instead of Granger, he just shagged?"

Neville had had enough. "Why do you make this crap up, Malfoy?" he asked, as turned to grab Draco's sleeve.

"It's not worth fighting over," Luna said, as she reached for his arm. She leaned into Neville then and whispered so only he would hear. "Besides, he's right. I mean, I don't know what Professor Snape's been doing. But," she said even more quietly. "I think that's where's he's been."

Seamus stood up and neatly slid over the table top so he could exit by Draco. Finnigan timed it perfectly so he could slam right into him, just as the blonde was standing. "Sorry, Malfoy," he told him as he forced Draco further into the table and into his breakfast. And then the Gryffindor leaned in while he patted him on the back. "We were all thinking it was you what wanted a piece of Snape. 'Cause a fellow makes a big scene like that, we just figure HE'S the one whose jealous. Good luck with that, Mate." And with a fierce smack to the back, Seamus was out of range.

Minerva had seen it all, though the words of the pupils had escaped her. But she shared a look with Poppy that seem to say, _Queen Maeve strikes again_.

Severus had not missed the scene at all. And given the looks that came his way and the fragments he picked up from reading their lips, he was certain what was going on. Draco was bragging about his Head of House's '_use'_ of Hermione to stir up trouble between the two rival houses.

...

"What are we to do about these students. They'll come to blows," Minerva said, as she ushered Severus into her office after breakfast.

"It is all over these rumors. This belief in my depravity. And perversely, my behavior isn't being reviled, it's being celebrated," Severus explained.

"So, _**that's**_ what this morning was about."

"Yes, Malfoy feels it necessary to inform everyone that I am late for meals because I have just rolled off a certain young woman. And I am limited as to my response," he said through gritted teeth. "How could a loyal Death Eater and the orchestrator of the Head Girl's downfall object if his students want to brag about his fiendish sexual exploits?"

"Well, you're right. You can't do much about this," Minerva told him. "There are times we don't dare right wrongs or even work to preserve our own pride." She studied him a moment . He didn't seem convinced. He didn't even seem to be listening. "You know what has afflicted the Headmaster?"

"A slow death brought on by that ring."

"But surely you had asked yourself how he could have been so careless as to expose himself to a cursed, dark object. It was a vain desire for a sense of immunity. He wanted to feel _**blameless**_. His selfish attempt to see into the past and end his guilt over his sister's death has caused his affliction. Don't make a similar mistake. Don't let your pride or your vanity..."

"This is _**not**_ about my pride!" he seethed. "I care because of _**her**_, you foolish woman. Because of the child. Because they will live with the stain he placed on them using MY hand."

And he could not imagine why she was smiling after his outburst and his insult. And then her gentle words came. "I know that's why you care. But if I had been the one to suggest that, you would not have listened. You've fallen in love with her. And that makes it impossible to see her slandered. That is what makes you react with emotion, rather than seeing the bigger picture. But I knew you would never admit that much to me." He turned his head from her. "And I will not ask you to admit it. Please, just see that trying to remove any stain or hurt. Even a false one. Might ruin your future... and hers. Patience. Happiness may yet be in your future. In a just world that would be your reward."

"I think it more likely I will meet Albus in Hell."

"More than one of us is working to avoid that," she told him with rising sarcasm. "It would be good if you joined our team. And Severus, don't worry about Draco. Tomorrow, just skip breakfast altogether. Draco will likely say something completely horrid. A fight will likely ensue. But you will not be there to seemingly sanction it with your silence."

"And how does _**that **_help?" he demanded.

"I believe Queen Maeve has bolstered a certain Gryffindor with the confidence he needs to right Mr. Malfoy. And if he can not manage it, I will."

///

Severus found himself back on Hermione's doorstep that night. Always with him it was unannounced, as if making plans to see her would change the relationship somehow. Make it something it was not. As if he needed her to believe it was just a whim that brought him to her over and over.

"Have you eaten?" she asked. She tried to make it sound like a light, innocent question. But she worried this man was burning himself out. Not eating. Getting too little sleep.

"I'm fine."

He had not abused her over that question, and so, she felt emboldened. "Can you stay the night?"

"Indeed," he answered with a thin smile. "The Deputy Headmistress has informed me my presence at breakfast is not necessary."

She tried to kiss him. But he pushed her off. "I need to shower," he protested, as he walked for the bedroom. And she knew he must have come directly from the camps in Scotland. They made him feel dirty. Tainted.

He pulled off his coat and shirt. She raised her eyes to admit she was watching him, and smiled when she saw the mail on him. It slid from him effortlessly when he pulled the small clasp at the shoulder. He laid the thin armor on the bed, and it prompted him to ask the question that had plagued him since she had given it to him.

"What about Potter and Weasley?" he asked, pointedly. "How can you protect me and not them?"

"I am working on that. The main problem with Harry is the possibility that his soul is somehow compromised by Voldemort. That there is a Horcrux in him somehow," she said, shaking her head, confused.

"But aren't you worried about Weasley?" he taunted, cruelly.

"Of course, I am," she spat. "But he has Harry. They have the Invisibility Cloak. They have the help of the Order and the entire Weasley family to draw on. You are my responsibility."

"Ah, yes. The task set you by our master, Albus Dumbledore."

"No. Those things I want to do, because I love you. God, you are impossible. Take your shower." She turned from him and started hefting books. Slamming them down. And finally, selecting a pile to carry into bed with her.

...

"You've gotten huge," he said, as he pulled himself into bed.

"This is nothing," she fired back without sparing him a look. "I'm only 26 weeks. You should see the pictures of what my belly will look like at 40."

"I think I will let it be a surprise," he told her.

She continued to look at her open book. He poked at the pile of volumes beside her, reading the titles.

"Tonks and Remus are married," she said without looking up.

"I will have to check their registry and send something suitable," he said, sarcastically. He picked up the book his hand had landed on to give himself a prop. He opened it then and pretend to pursue it.

"I guess it was a secret," she said, ignoring his mood. "But it all came out because apparently she is pregnant and Remus had a cow when he found out she had helped with the Gringotts action. I guess she isn't showing yet. So, no one knew..."

"What is the Wizarding world coming to? All of you brash, young witches running around pregnant?"

"Maybe we shouldn't talk," she suggested.

"Fine." He snapped the pages shut on what he was holding and tossed it back into the pile.

"I could get you a book to **_actually_** read. You could read to the baby," she said, pointedly.

She was only half kidding. She had heard people did this. Men even. Maybe it was the news that Remus and Tonks had been secretly married these past months and that they were expecting a child. Maybe that was pushing her emotions. She couldn't help but compare. She was sure they didn't spend their time sniping at each other. Tense. Worried about the black moods that were pulled in through the door. She was sure Remus touched Tonk's belly and smiled hoping to feel their baby kick.

Severus must have processed some of it somehow. Or he had finally had enough of their joint pissing and moaning that he was able to stop. She had sighed horribly and rolled over with her books, giving him her back. He placed a hand firmly to her lower spine, pressing, and then rubbing in a small circle.

She moaned, dropped her head into her book. "Oh, God. Exactly there. Yes."

He thought. More truthfully, he felt. He closed his eyes and tried hard not to be himself. How hard would it be to give her what she wants right now? Dumbledore had ensured she would have no one. No one save him. Did he have to be as antagonistic to her as the world was already being?

He thought about the pregnancy book Minerva had foisted on him, pulling its comments to mind with his near-perfect recall.

"Are you having many symptoms?" he asked. It sounded a bit clinical. But he heard her sigh again. She needed the concern, the attention. He had not asked about her physical well being at all recently, he realized. And while he did survey her, notice whether she seemed to be having a good day or a bad, he did not often bring it up. "Headaches?" he asked.

"Mmm hhhmm," she told him softly.

"You've been to the Midwife since you got back?"

"Yes," she murmured.

"And everything is all right?"

"Yes, everything is normal. Just... not always a lot of fun," she let herself complain.

"How are your legs?" he said, as if seducing her.

"Not bad, really."

He widened the circle he was tracing on her back. And after a long pause, he managed to ask, "What do you want to tell me?"

"It's foolish."

"Just come out with it."

She took his hand and placed it on her belly. "I want you to rub my stomach. I want you to tell me you can feel him in there. Even if you can't," she admitted. Her tone carried her message. She didn't even care if he lied, her expectations were so low.

His touch was methodical, sweeping over the top of her belly, the middle. And finally across the bottom. Instinctively, then he stretched his hand and cradled the muscles there that ached.

"Remember we were talking about Harry?" she whispered, as she covered his hand with hers.

"I am not senile. Yes. I remember a conversation we had 20 minutes ago. But maybe that can wait. I am having a bonding moment with the child," he said, sarcastically. He continued to float light touches over her stomach then. She laughed at him. It was as close to playful as Severus Snape managed. But it was only because he was trying to avoid talking about The Boy Who Lived.

"I think I know something that will help Harry. There is a place that might have answers. Some people I should talk to. If I can find anyone there. I have been reading too much maybe, because I am seeing this place in my dreams."

"Pregnant witches have portentous dreams," he said in his Trelawny voice. "Could you not dream that you went to a clinic in Austria and stayed out of the way for the next 15 weeks? I do not need to worry about you."

"You worry about me?" And she twisted then to face him. To see his expression.

"Of course, I do," he said, roughly. "But it's pointless. You will do whatever you please."

"That's not true. I take what you say into consideration. I do."

"Shall I give you the name of a nice clinic in Austria then?" he said, pointedly.

"I plan on flying to America next week," she said, carefully.

He pressed his hand to his forehead and groaned with a show of consternation.

She tensed then when she felt him pull away from her and get out of the bed. "Are you mad?"

"No. You will be safer out of England than in. But I would prefer you were merely staying out of trouble than whatever you have in mind. Now, do you have any ice cream?"

"Yes," she said, warily.

"We will feed it to you. And according to my research, Young Tyro will become elated, or cold, and he will move about for you."

"You mean 'Gundi,'" she teased.

"Please," he said teasing her back, "has no one told you? That is the name of an African rodent."

///


	40. Chapter 40

_**A/N: Thanks for reading, folks!! **_

_**My strange mood seems to continue.... What ade this fun to write was having part of it be from Binns perspective.  
**_

* * *

Moody was not sure when he had realized that any plan to employ the Gae Bulga had become his problem. But he certainly knew it now. The first and most obvious point had been that it was not a weapon he could use. The old spear needed to be in the hands of someone fit and able bodied. Someone who would be dedicated to that one task and not needed for other actions during any battle.

Somehow, whether it be instinct or lack of inspiration, Alastor decided that Mr. Finnigan would be their man.

Seamus had been there when the weapon was received from the queen. And he had been touched by the queen, as well. All of these things mattered when dealing with a magical weapon. Watching the boy take his first steps with the spear in the Room of Requirement, he saw another advantage. Finnigan was a strong, compact little bugger with the low center of gravity and fierce grip the Gae Bulga demanded.

Now, if either of them just knew how to use the damn thing the way it was intended, they might actually be on to something.

After a mere 45 minutes of joint floundering with the relic, the old Auror called the practice to a halt and sent the boy off to bed. They would convene again the next day when Alastor would have on hand the only person he could think might be able to help.

Only one professor was likely to know how the successful wielders of this weapon had been trained years ago.

///

Cuthbert Binns found himself meeting with Professor McGonagall and the headmaster early the next morning. Unhappily, he was soon 'recruited' to instruct some student he could not place. Yes, he knew he had the most extensive knowledge of the weapon's lore as the Professor of Magical History. And yes, as Dumbledore pointed out, he had no choice.

But Binns still felt it was decidedly unnecessary for Minerva to point out that he had impeccable footwork as the school's favorite dance teacher in his day. Certainly, the old witch did not need to also establish that his 'day' was, at this point, a century passed.

...

Binns' wrinkled form hovered there in a fine approximation of an offended stance as he spoke with Moody in the Room of Requirement that night. "And I'll want you to keep an eye on Finnigan when you aren't training, as well," the old Auror told him. "Queen Maeve may have visited on him a bit of 'warrior's spirit.'" The ghost looked confused and Alastor was beyond the point of pleasantries in his need to explain. "The boy may be inclined to fight and screw more than normally, " he ground out in a low voice.

"This ...is untenable, Mr. Moody!" Binns complained after he had recovered a bit.

"You don't have to tell me that," Alastor said, irritably. After only a few days of feeling similarly possessed, the Auror was beginning to see that his own constant desire to 'fight and screw' would wear out his poor old corporeal form.

He doubted Binns would want to hear anything about that.

With his final comment left hanging, Alastor turned for the door, and Binns was left to his task. There was another student present, the ghost noted. A boy other than Finnigan, and this one had come into an ancient weapon as well.

_Apparently, a Greek!_ Binns thought, eyeing the short sword Neville was using. _Hadn't known we had anyone with connections to ancient Hellenic Warcraft and Wizardry. How_ v_ery interesting._

Of course, it turned out Longbottom knew less about the sword than Binns himself. His family had lost it's patriarch so early. The boy's Greek family could not train him to do more than imprint the xithos to him and to make it return. Binns shook his head and turned his attentions back to Mr. Finnigan.

Binns felt his less-than-solid form hampered his work as a instructor. Attempting to demonstrate any type of footwork was near impossible when he could not accentuate the rhythm with the natural sound of boots on stone. The ghost applied some hit and miss uses of magic and found for the first time in decades he was listening to his own footfalls. If he kept this up he would develop a swagger.

_A swagger!_ he thought. That was a recent addition to a certain young man's persona that even he had detected. This Mister Finnigan was changed. Moody had said that the seventh-year was feeling his oats. Binns had dismissed the idea as both unsavory and ridiculous until the next day when that ethereal creature came by.

'Luna,' the boys both called her. She was the tall one's girlfriend, Binns observed.

It was that girl that set the truth of Moody's words before him and revealed the magical nature to Mr. Finnigan's change. But the exchange between Miss Lovegood and Finnigan showed the change to the girl herself.

It was her reaction to Finnigan that caught Binns' notice. Normally, he admitted, he was not that mindful of an individual student's peculiarities. But Moody _**had**_ warned him to watch the young Irishman.

The girl clearly had chosen the Longbottom lad, but she was distracted by Mr. Finnigan. She sensed, and even seemed to smell, the difference to him. She watched him carefully. Gave him a wide berth. Treated him like something other than a boyish student.

She created a buffer between her and him with a small gesture that pushed the air at him. Chilled it. Magic like that was _**elemental**_, the sort of thing a ghost would notice, being closer to the usual spirit-like practitioners.

Binns had felt there was so much he had lost. His senses that were dulled. His taste gone, obviously. Smell, gone. _But_, he thought triumphantly, _he saw things the living didn't_.

The old ghost knew he would have to get someone else involved. Surely the girl had a head of house. Someone who could look into these fae tendencies.

///

"Binns thinks she is a Slyph? An invisible being of the air?" Minerva asked.

"I am glad you explained that. To me, it sounded like it had sexual connotations," Alastor admitted.

Minerva hung her head and sighed. EVERYTHING had sexual connotations since the man had gotten back from Ireland.

"Ooooh," Filius interjected. "'An invisible being of the air.' I don't like that. Now that you've said that out loud, I am getting chills. It is starting to make a bit of sense."

_Please_, Minerva found herself thinking, _was it beyond their notice that Miss Lovegood was VISIBLE?_ . She was not sure she could contend with this. Alastor finding everything sexual and Filius sitting there visibly wiggling with the 'chills' as he made some esoteric connection in his over-synapsed brain. She looked longingly at the whiskey in the corner of her sitting room.

Suddenly, Minerva couldn't make it another moment. She stood and walked for the tray containing the alcohol. "Anyone not wanting a drink need tell me now," she announced, as she strode hard for the corner. Alastor was on his feet to join her, otherwise, he knew, she might pour it too small. Filius made little pleased noises.

Once the whiskey had warmed her throat, she addressed Flitwick, "Alright, Filius. I'm armed now. Just why does the notion of invisible beings of the air give you the chills?"

"Luna Lovegood is a Ravenclaw," the small man said with a great deal of production.

Minerva pounded back the remainder of her glass and told him sarcastically, "We had all noted that."

"But," Filius said with a finger poised high with triumph. "The Ravenclaw house has an elemental affiliation with _**air.**_"

"And supposedly, the Syltherian association is with water," Moody said, "But Snape is no water nymph."

Minerva got her own set of viscous chills then as she was visited by a mental image (added no doubt by whiskey on an empty stomach) of Severus as a hairy chested mermaid. Worse, the morose-looking Water-Snape in her vision was flicking a Slytherin green tail seductively at her.

"God help me," she murmured. And she walked back for the whiskey, deciding more could only help at this point. If nothing else, she had the horrible sensation of chest hair in her mouth.

The Auror in Moody began to work finally. "What have you noticed, Flitwick? You have to think about anything that has changed. The girl's behavior. Habits. If she had some sort of fae tendencies or had developed elemental magic before recently, certainly it would not have taken BINNS to notice it. She didn't show up at Hogwarts like this! All of the ghosts in the castle wouldn't have missed this over 6 years."

"It all started after Hermione Granger left," Filius said, nodding and sipping at his drink. "I thought Luna felt some need to fill those shoes. To be that sort of intellectual catalyst that Hermione was. Luna is bright. But not a traditional student." Minerva allowed herself a snort at that. "She was researching at all hours suddenly. Taking on extra work. I thought she was writing for her father possibly. But then she would wonder off to the lake a whole weekend. That's not too unusual for her, I supposed. But she also spent a few weekends badgering Madam Sprout about things, I know. And Madam Hooch and....

"Hopefully, did not try experimenting with _**fiend fire**_..." Minerva said. "It sounds like she was trying for any sort of inroad with elemental magic. Looking for her niche. You'll have to get her to come clean, Filius, Find out what talents she has with 'air' other than warding off Finnigan's hormones."

///

Severus was more uncomfortable than ever being with the Dark Lord. The near-man's behavior now followed little pattern. Today there was a feigned amity that was disconcerting given that another Horcrux had recently fallen. But Severus knew Voldemort's manner was capricious. He had just that morning punished an underling with the Crutiatus for being unable to rid the room of a fly.

"Tell me, Severus, about the camps. Numbers. I need numbers." But the reality was that the numbers Severus told him did not seem to stick with the unhealthy man. He would ask again. Miss the point.

And then with a sickening smile, Voldemort asked him, "Have you any love lost for Malfoy? The senior Malfoy. Certainly, you know, he has always hoped to see you stumble. He has WORKED to point out your faults."

"Has he done anything to displease you, My Lord?" Severus deftly asked.

Severus' mind began to churn, even as he worked to hold his thoughts in check, to guard them. He gave the Dark Lord a compliant face and could help but worry, _What trouble can Lucius plant? Would it be about the camps? Hogwarts? _ _Hermione?_

"Lucius would remove Dumbledore now. To have _**you**_ finish him now," Voldemort said with a wicked grin. "But, I think, Lucius may underestimate the old man. This is the wizard who bested Grindewald. Who stood against me... In truth, Malfoy likely does not consider Dumbledore at all." His words were slick now. Simply said, but dangerous. "He may simply want to see you tested. Or he may only be chafing to move things forward. So many of our ranks are impatient. I can see them, anxious. Chomping at the bit. "

"You know best, My Lord. To my knowledge, Dumbledore is planning nothing new. The Order can make no sure move against you."

"Then there is time. A bit of time ...to do this a different way. To test those who would trouble the ranks, perhaps...." he said, trailing off uncharacteristically. "And your concubine?" he said, suddenly. "Is she who she seems to be?"

"She is who she always was, My Lord. A girl. Easily manipulated. Easily pleased with a little attention."

"Does she ask about her friends? They have managed entirely too much, even without her help."

"She works. She reads. She worries over the baby, My Lord. But her friends, all of Hogwarts? They no longer have time for her and she has no time for them."

As the interview ended and the Dark Lord swept from the room, Severus worked to stay limp and unchanged. But he had heard it now. The Dark Lord would send someone to kill Albus before any battle was planned.

///

It was no coincidence. That much Hermione was sure of as she entered the twin's shop. Arthur Weasley was plainly waiting for her when George brought her over on the pretext of a game of cards that evening.

The hair on her neck rose up then and she thought surely there should be a bare light bulb swinging from the ceiling. Some plain wooden chair that she would be tied to for interrogation, because she saw Molly Weasley round the corner wearing a tight little smile.

"We were just here to bring the twins back to the house for some dinner. They don't get a proper meal any more. I would bet the same is true of you. Come along, Hermione. Won't you?" the red-haired woman said.

George gave Hermione a sheepish look, for all that he would meet her eye.

The meal itself was safe enough. The elder Weasley could not question her about her situation with the twins at the table. Hermione decided that she needed to be seen as forthcoming, though. If she was to hide anything, she needed to give up something at the same time. So, she told them she was getting set to leave England for a week or two.

If nothing else, given the silence that followed and the looks exchanged, Hermione decided _**that**_ news had nicely blindsided them.

...

"You are really off to America?" Arthur confirmed, as they settled into the couch alone after dessert.

"Yes. I don't have very high expectations for this trip. My research doesn't point to anything specific. But, I don't know. I just have to go. I can't explain it."

Finally, he whispered to her, his voice quite laden and uncommonly provoking, "And what does Severus think about you going to America?"

It had been months since Hermione had known, just _**known**_, the right answer. Life was not school. Being a pregnant, social outcast and the mistress to a double agent was not exactly a multiple choice test.

But looking at Arthur and hearing him ask about Severus, she had the answer.

She _**knew**_ she couldn't panic.

She knew she couldn't admit anything big. But that any time spent on denials was wasted. Arthur was on to _**something**_. Likely something Severus should have mentioned to her, she thought with a little wry smile.

"Severus," she said, lingering over the name for effect, "is not happy about it all. Now," she said pushing up from the couch, "I think I'll help Molly with the dishes. It will give me an excuse to ask her some pregnancy questions." Which, of course, Hermione had no intention of doing ....

...

"The child is blameless. As innocent as an angel," Molly said with that breathless, miracle-of-life voice she had. "You need to mind your situation. Think about his future."

Hermione was tired. And now she was fairly peeved. No doubt it showed. She had been quite effectively double teamed.

"I really appreciate you having me to dinner, but I should be getting back," Hermione said, as she smiled thinly and backed up.

"We _**know**_, Hermione," came a new more, threatening voice from Molly's repertoire. "We know who you are involved with. Don't compound your current problems by adding more danger. More notoriety. Think about the baby."

Hermione was actually quite surprised that the pregnancy was only termed a 'problem' and not a 'mistake.' But then she lit onto the reason. Molly wanted to give her a little push to get her talking. But she didn't want to risk driving her away. There was someone else they were trying to drive away...

Hermione smiled a bit, pleased that she had had the presence of mind to avoid Molly's emotional trap. "You're fishing for a confession of some sort," she told the elder witch nonchalantly. "But, as I am feeling _**horribly**_ unrepentant, I have absolutely nothing to tell you."

She was out the front door and gone with a turn before Molly had adjusted her gaping mouth.

///


	41. Chapter 41

_**A/N: This chapter is shorter than I wanted it to be. The second part of it, where Hermione is finally in America is proving a tad tough for me to get out. So, I thought it best I get the first half of this posted now.  
**_

/

"Severus? I don't want to go." Hermione's voice was uncharacteristically tentative. Almost childlike.

He put his sandwich back down and stared at her. "But you'll go." It seemed he doubted her less than she doubted herself. "Why would you stay? There's nothing here for you to do. You are looking for answers. You haven't got Potter sorted out yet, and you won't rest till you do."

"Well, what else can I do?" came her incredulous reply. "What would you do? Stop caring about my friends?"

"I would hardly suggest anyone model their life on any choices I've made. And I don't have the right to tell you..."

"And you won't ..." _You won't ever just tell me that you love me. That for just a while we are more important than this fight. That you care about me too much to bear me leaving, _she thought.

"I've asked you to just lie low," he snarled. And turned his head a touch, as if that angry or that uncomfortable.

For a flash, it was there. The face of a man who had lost far too much and was preciously close to asking that he not have to endure losing anything more. But he wouldn't say it. Wouldn't wear that weakness.

Suddenly, she decided he didn't have to. She would take that look at volume. He was telling her something, if she listened. It was there - as undeniable as soul-shaking thunder.

"I'm sorry," she told him.

"What the hell for?"

And he was up from the table, taking his plate to the sink. He wasn't half done eating, she knew, but there was only so much talking Severus could manage.

/

That night she pressed closer to him, despite feeling spent.

He'd been perfect. Fervent. And slow. To Hermione, it was as if he was pouring everything he would never tell her in to making love to her.

Some people hide in the dark. While others let out the angels they deny by day, she decided.

His finger tips were on her face, his whispers at her ear. She never felt anonymous with him. And tonight she could swear she knew the shape and sight of pain and love perfectly mixed. She could taste them in his breathless kiss. In the sweat on his skin. She heard it all in the words his hands relayed.

Rare. She would allow at best that what they shared in that moment was rare. This understanding. This connection that they had was palpable and all the more precious because it was so obviously ephemeral. It was leaking away now with the kiss he placed on her temple. That uncommon show of tenderness told her something.

Told her he was scared. Unsure of what was coming.

_And when Severus Snape is scared_, Hermione's mind lamented, as her grip on him unconsciously tightened, _what is left?_ _Who is left?_

He managed a smile. She felt it pressed to her cheek. And he shushed her then, in response to words she hadn't even said.

Afraid. Worried. They both were. But she smiled back against the threat of tears. His hold on her did not let up. She knew something then with a brilliant surety that made her stop doubting God for just that moment.

After months of his resignation. His near-suicidal pessimism. That hopelessness he wore like a badge. She saw now that he had changed. _He hasn't given up. He won't give up. _Would he know it made her want to rejoice?

"I love you," she whispered. _Because you won't quit. _ "You're beautiful," she told him. _Because I know now you'll at least try to get through this. _"Beautiful."

"It's dark and you are sadly demented," he replied lightly.

"It's dark and you are perfect."

"People will think you're easy, if you talk like that." And silently, he delighted in her laugh then when it came.

/

In the moments before he had to leave her the next morning, she tried not to cling to him. Finally, in a search for normalcy, she asked him, "Can you tell me about what is going on at Hogwarts? I hear nothing."

"The Inquisitor makes more and more of the decisions, although the Headmaster is still in place. Finnigan is in a near-permanent detention with Professor Binns after thrashing Malfoy," Snape said, as he finished his buttons. "Longbottom is up to something in the Room of Requirement. And Flitwick has decided that Miss Lovegood is some form of angel." He said this with that scoffing voice she enjoyed more now than in years past.

"What else?" she urged.

He gritted his teeth before he finally spoke. "That's all. I am no longer in Minerva's confidence. With allegiances clearly drawn -or at least supposed, in the castle- she and I cannot be seen talking." He paused then. "And also I wonder if some of it isn't purposeful on her part. On Dumbledore's. There is a wealth of details that they would not want to have fall into the Dark Lord's hands if I am compromised. Because if the Dark Lord wills it, sooner or later, everyone talks."

When he reached the door, he turned and waited for her. He looked uncomfortable. She knew he hated their scenes. She willed some stoicism into her demeanor as she looked up at him. She lay her hands on his chest gently in complete opposition to her desire to wrap her arms firmly around him. "One week. Well, maybe ten days," she told him. "I'll want to see you as soon as I'm back. If you can," she added, as a nervous after thought. "I'll let you know when I am back."

And even before her words were fully out, she felt him shift under her hands. Wanting out. Needing to end the display. Her hands stroked the pendant at the hallow of her throat then, as if it was some talisman. His eyes caught her at it and his expression tightened.

"Agreed," he told her, simply. And he held still then. Yielded to her physical entreaty for a kiss in parting. And with efficiency, he was gone.

"Gundi," she said to her belly. "We have our work cut out for us." And she set her mind to packing.

/

The news that Umbridge was making more changes made the tall witch straighten to a point those present would have thought painful. There had been an oversight in her work at solidifying her hold on the castle and its occupants, the Inquisitor had announced. She had let Alastor Moody stay far too long.

Dumbledore and Alastor were insistent that there was no fighting the old toad. There were no grounds to contend they needed the old Auror there. Moody had only taught a handful of classes since being there and had mostly come and gone on Auror business.

...

"Aw. Come on, Min. Why the sour face," Moody asked, as he packed. "I'm surprised I got away with staying here this long with the Old Toad being here."

"I hate to see her win is all," the witch told him sternly.

"Oh, aye. That's it. You'd be upset if Umbridge was evicting anyone. Sure. I understand," he said, as if wounded. But he smiled.

"Stop fooling about," she told him, and she moved closer. "I hate to see you go. You know that. And I hate that it is Umbridge getting her way. But... there are things you need to do away from here as it is."

"Now if you go and tell me 'your leaving is for the best,' then I'll be hurt."

She put her hand gently to his mouth to keep him from talking. "Stop all this," she told him then. "You are making me maudlin."

"Oh, can't have that now, Love," he purred.

"Where will you be?" she whispered into his neck.

"Nowhere they'll find me."

"I'll still worry," she told him, as she ran her hands up and down his back.

"That's my girl," he teased. "Your owl will always find me. Now. Stay here," he said. And he kissed her forehead. "Rolanda will get my broom for me. We can't have the Deputy Headmistress out there making a scene."

"I love you," she told him. The words never sounded off-hand when she said them, he noted with a sad smile.

"And I love you."

...

She could see him from her window now. He didn't even glance up at her. He didn't have to. She was what he thought of more often than he should, she knew.

"Be careful, you old fool," she whispered, as he flew off. "I'll not forgive you if you get yourself hurt."

/

The force beside Luna was unmistakably masculine. But welcome. She glanced up from her seat in the library and smiled at Neville. It had been days since they had managed the sparest words between them. And his appearance here beside her was extremely unexpected.

She didn't make him say a word. She closed up her books in silence and packed her bag. While she worked, she took the measure of him. She could read so much of him in the air that played between them. His soap. The recentness of his shower. A nervousness that she found completely endearing.

Once they were in the corridor, she took up his hand. "You aren't busy tonight?" she asked, gently. He shook his head and guided her towards the door that would lead them to the courtyard.

"I wanted to be with you," he managed once they were outside. "We've spent so much time apart. And I know that everything that is coming is important, but isn't this important, too?"

She rose up on her toes with a sweet and patient smile, and waited for him to kiss her. He was lost in his hold on her, past thinking once their lips met. But he swore the answer came to him then, carried on a warm, enveloping breeze.

_This was important, too._

/

_**Thanks for reading, everyone!**_


	42. Chapter 42

**_A/N: I am at one of those points where writing seems positively arduous! So, I am taking it in small bits. This should work itself out soon, right? I'll get back into the swing of it..._**

/

Neville," Luna said quietly with a hand to his cheek. "You've changed."

"Me?" he said, rolling back on to his heels with the need to laugh. "What about you? Everything that comes out of your mouth lately is nearly a prophecy. It's like you have second sight. Like you are Trelawny... well, like you are who Trelawny wishes she was..."

"There's no prophecy to it," Luna explained. "It's the air."

"The air?" he said with a touch of disbelief.

"This is what I've been working on. This is how I've been getting ready. I don't know if it's anything really. But I've developed a certain talent for ... well, air."

"Like flying?" Neville asked.

"Oh, it's so much more than that," she told him with a smile. It was obvious Luna was happy to share a bit of what she had been devoting her time to. Her grin grew even larger while she waited for him to guess more.

"So, the air helps you with these things... But, is that how you know that Professor Snape has ... you know, been to see Hermione?"

"He comes back smelling like her. Like her soap. It isn't the sort of thing I would have noticed before. But the air gives up more secrets to me now."

Neville wasn't sure how he felt about this notion of Hermione being in close quarters with the potions professor. He squinted in disbelief at Luna. She seemed perfectly comfortable with the idea, and so he made himself let go of any misgivings. "Why haven't you said anything about what you can do?"

"Oh, everyone figures I'm goofy..."

"Not me," he protested, swinging her about a bit in his arms.

"No. Not you," she said as she gave him a squeeze. "But it doesn't feel like a very useful set of talents." And she gave him her usual shrug.

"So, what does the air tell you now?" he half teased.

"It's going to rain tomorrow. You aren't as nervous as you were. I think you might love me."

"I do," he blurted out.

"Good," she said matter-of-factly. "Because I love you."

/

Hermione used her mother's credit card to neatly pay for all the Muggle expenses. Her air travel had gone largely without a hitch. She had managed it quite well, she thought, up to a point. But now she was here, in the States, wondering what the hell she was supposed to do. At this juncture, logic was suddenly no help. Logic, in fact, would have turned her around and put her back on the plane for home.

Although she hated to admit it, she had had this horrible inkling of what she should do next. A little voice. It was as if she had a Trelawny-like sense that all this talk about angels was prophetic.

Severus had mentioned something about Luna being thought an angel. Molly had called the baby one. Hermione could swear the word have even crept into her own mind lately. And, so, here she sat on a bus in Indiana staring at her notes about the Angel Mounds, a pre-historic native site.

Initially, the sense of coincidence had been too much for her. So much so that she had rejected everything that pointed to the Angel site. She had stubbornly gone first to another mound along the Mississippi. She had performed every revealing spell there she could think of. Had talked with every willing person hoping for some spark of insight. Finally, after 6 hours there, she had given up and gone back to her motel. That had been two days ago.

...

The old bus she was on shuddered to a stop, and the driver waited patiently for her to extricate herself from the seat. Her shape and that of the bus aisle were a bit incongruous. Watching her from his mirror, the driver seemed to realize that. He reminded her that the last bus came back by at 6 pm that evening, and she could swear he seemed reluctant to leave her there by the side of the road.

With a sad intake of departing diesel, she shouldered her small back pack. She could see the earthen mounds in the distance and the historic area parking lot was directly in front of her. _This is likely the stupidest thing I have ever done, _she thought as she put one foot in front of the other._ Alone here, no companion. No help. No idea as to what I am supposed to find._

Angels. Mounds. She was chasing vapors. Being led by baseless coincidence. But the strange sense that she was on the right track wouldn't let up. She tried to explain away the chills she felt when she saw the site's earthen battle works. But a closer inspection told her what she knew already, the walls were all too like a miniature version of those at Hogwart's.

They were all mad thoughts, really. Mindless happenstance, no matter how seemingly pleasing, was not at all the thing for Hermione. Trewlany would love this, though, the witch thought. Ron would be screaming and stammering about some curse, however, she mused with a smile as she rounded the defensive wall.

There is nothing really about angels connected to the site, she reminded herself. Just the name. The area was named for one of the white families that settled in Southwestern Indiana. Mathias Angel had had a farmstead on the site of Angel Mounds in the 1800s.

Hermione touched her wand inside her coat and cast a revealing spell at the large mound in front of her. She could detect no spell use here. Could see nothing hidden. Her spells were useless, however, at telling her if anything was buried deep within the mound. With awkward movements, she sat down onto the grass and heaved up a sigh. This time it wasn't a _**thing**_ she was looking for, was it? It was answers. Why did she think this place would help? What about this grassy lump or any of the other pre-historic formations in America was going to give her answers? How ridiculously desperate was she to be sitting here, alone and cold, staring at a hill? Doubt had a firm grip on her as she pulled her coat tighter around her and dropped her chin to her chest.

/

In the caretaker's cabin, an old man looked out across the site from his window. "Okomi," the man called over his shoulder. "A girl has been out near the largest mound for over an hour. Go talk to her. Find out what has brought her here."

Thomas, as he thought of himself, joined his grandfather in peering outside. He got no other clues from the old man, no other indication of why he thought this woman needed talking to. To Thomas, she was no different than any of the other visitors who came here day in and day out. But Thomas knew there would be no coming explanation. So, he grabbed his coat and set off across the grass.

Even with his long strides and his impatience, it took him a few minutes to reach her. She seemed entranced by the mound, just blankly staring at it.

"Can I help you?" Thomas asked gently, cocking his head at her.

"I don't know," she said without looking at him.

"Well... what are you doing?"

"Research," Hermione said, as if addressing the mound. "This place is very much like others around the world. Ones that are linked to people in history who are considered magical."

He was intrigued by her now and stepped closer. A wry smile was on his face, he was sure she was putting him on. "This is how you do research then? In England? That is where you are from, right?"

"Yes," she answered.

He turned and stared at the mound as if seeing it for the first time, mimicking her interest in it. Then he looked back at her. "What are you really doing?"

"I am hoping that information I find can help a friend of mine."

"Tell me."

Something in the way he said those words made her finally look at him. And she found she couldn't do anything then but stare.

Maybe it was that sense of resemblance. Maybe she was just that tired and lonely that she was seeing what she wanted to. Seeing Severus. Younger, whole, and well.

This man was 30 years old or so. And tall. His height was accentuated by his lean frame and his commanding, but natural-seeming stance. Black hair hung loose, barely touching his shoulders in jagged wisps. But really, she told herself, it was just that first glance that had surprised her. The resemblance was not that keen... just the hair, his bearing, his dark eyes...

"Information?" he prompted, seeming a bit concerned now. "To help a friend."

"Sorry," she said, sheepishly. "You remind me of someone."

"This friend?"

"Different friend," she said with an odd emphasis on the first word.

"Sounds complicated." And after a pause, he told her, "I've been sent to check on you."

She froze then and studied him while her brain whirled. His words seemed oddly significant ... Hadn't she bemoaned her lack of companionship and guidance on this trip? And here he was, telling her he was sent to check on her.

"Sorry... again," she said with a shake of her head. "The things that are happening lately all seem too strange. Little coincidences. Things aligning. Everything seems to be falling into place when I would swear I don't know what to do."

"Are you the ... mystical sort?"

"Not at all. I am more the Doubting Thomas kind."

"I just realized I hadn't introduced myself." She looked at him quizzically for that seeming nonsequitor. "Not to heap more coincidence on you, but my name is Thomas."

"Great," she said, as if the evidence that fate was interfering was not just mounting, but also bothersome. "Thomas. So, I'm the Doubting Thomas," she indicating herself, "but just call me Hermione. And of course, then there's Thomas the Twin," she told him with a wave of her hand in his direction. She hoped that was the end of her Biblical references for the day. "Ron would run from here screaming at this point," she mumbled.

But despite all her symptoms of insanity, Thomas stood there patiently. Thomas... the serene counterpoint and doppleganger for her acerbic lover. She gave into the overwhelming show of proof that they were both here for a reason, and decided she should just launch into her unbelievable quandary.

"Do you believe a soul can be split? Its pieces moved? _**Not**_ metaphorically..." she said, solemnly.

She thought she saw the barest twitch in him then. A shudder in an otherwise stoic man. "Let me help you up," he said, as he extended his hand.

"You think I'm kidding," she told him, as she took the hand he offered. Once he had her on her feet, he stepped away a bit.

"No. I'm afraid you're serious. We should go see my grandparents," Thomas said then. He indicated the cabin just off the park grounds with an exact sort of motion. "My grandfather sent me out here. He is a caretaker for this place. We can talk more there. We'll have something to eat, and I will drive you back to wherever you are staying later."

...

_A different sort of girl_, the long-haired old man thought as Hermione walked into the cabin. And then considering, both the seriousness to her face and the bend of her abdomen, he concluded she was a different sort of young woman. One with more burdens than just the obvious. Looking at her, he could see she straddled competing worlds uneasily. Childhood and adulthood. The common place and the extraordinary.

Once she was settled and introductions complete, Thomas encouraged her to tell his grandfather why she was there. She pushed out a deep breath and leaped past her misgivings to the crux of her worries. "My friend, Harry... his life is in danger. There are people trying to kill him out right... but also, his soul is under attack. It all has to do with a kind of splitting of the soul," she struggled to say. "A cursing. I don't know how to explain it, but an evil man's soul was split and part of it resides in Harry now. Keeping him safe is only half the problem. I have to figure out how to get that bit of splintered soul out of Harry.

"I came here because I read about similar things in the myths of this area. I found stories where the soul could be split or housed outside the body within another living thing." Thomas' grandfather nodded, and heartened, she continued. "But I also came because of the mounds. Twice before now, different ancient mounds have been the source of things we hope we can use in our fight. I need to find answers for Harry, but I also felt somehow there would be some sort of help for me here. And I do not have unlimited time to work on this, obviously," she said indicating her belly. "I am something of a walking time bomb. I had to come though, the more I tried to put this place out of my mind, the more I thought of it. Finally, I was dreaming of it." She looked at the faces all staring back at her. "I'm not making much sense, am I?"

"I'm going to make hot chocolate for everyone," Thomas' grandmother said. And with a kind smile, she shuffled back into the kitchen.

Hermione took this as a bad sign. "Normally, people think I'm rather bright, but I get the feeling you think I'm just looney."

There was a painful silence while the old man walked for the fire and warmed his hands in front of it. He decided it needed another log and slowly bent to add one. "Sane or not," he finally said with the barest smile. "Hot chocolate is just a good idea, I find."

_Did she really deserve this_, she had to ask herself. _After all the painful coincidences and strange occurre__nces, did the long-haired old man **have** to be the Native American equivalent of Dumbledore?_

She almost laughed out loud then when she let herself think, _"Yeah, he probably does." _

She let her eyes travel the cabin walls then. She let the full improbability of being in such a place settle on her, peaceably.

_I said I would do anything to see this war ended. To save Severus. To see Harry safe. And so this is my next task. To let go of logic. To forget what I know. To embrace the impossible and to welcome every seemingly irrational thing that might promise hope.  
_

/


	43. Chapter 43

**A/N: Thanks so much, dear patient readers.**

* * *

Inside the Headmaster's office, Severus refused the seat he was offered. The potions master doubted he could convince Albus that the threat against him warranted action, but the younger man would try.

"I have always known I was a target," Dumbledore objected, his hand held up to wave off objections. "It is the greater war that matters."

"This information is very recent. The task has been given to the Malfoys. They are obligated as a family to bring you down and soon," Snape insisted. "The Dark Lord is testing them in retribution for Lucius' maneuvering. Lucius and Draco will be desperate to succeed."

"No matter, Severus," came the calm reply.

"This is the beginning of the timetable the Dark Lord laid out. He wants you out of the way. Minerva out of the way. And then he will move on the castle and Potter," Snape said with agitation, as he closed the distance between them.

Suddenly, the old man's eyes bore into Snape's. "Minerva is your responsibility. Hear me on that, Severus. You will protect her. She can be head strong. She can react without regard for her own safety when someone else is in danger. Tom knows this. He will use the threat on _**me**_ to get to her.

"He said, _**first**_ it was you..."

"Stop thinking linearly, Severus," Albus prompted. "We are not dominoes he will take down neatly one after the other in a particular order. We can only know half of what he is up to. The other half? We need to guess."

Severus could not help but shake his head as the Headmaster dismissed him.

/

Minerva looked out at that spot in the grass often. She stared at it as if she could still see Alastor standing there, brash and sweet, ready to leave. She knew she'd been selfish letting him stay with her as long as he had. There was so much more he could do for the Order when he wasn't distracted by her.

She wanted this war over now more than ever. Lately, it seemed the Order had forgotten how to attack. Their missions were always defensive. They would get a report of a planned strike and they would try to stop it. How many times in recent weeks had she and Alastor lamented that. _"We have to take the fight to them. Find them before they plan their next attack. I'm sick of waiting around to get my nose bloodied,_" he had told her. _"If I could just..." _

So, Minerva knew that wherever the retired old Auror was, it was likely he was coming up with ways to go on the offensive.

Alastor wanted this war over, too. She had sensed that he was ready for something new and better in his life, and they both understood that finishing the war was the surest way to get it.

/

Moody had been following Franklin Pritchard for two weeks. Pritchard made a good mark, as he was a sloppy, undisciplined Death Eater. He had been around a long time, had risen inside the organization to a level beyond his competency. He was a hack, a fairly talentless Wizard. But he could fly well enough and fight well enough that he was of use to Voldemort. The cretin's best attribute, in Voldemort's eyes, was likely his love of gore. Pritchard had a desire for the dramatic. Every operation, he added a bit extra. More bang. Just a little more show than necessary. And Moody was sure _**that**_ was going to be the ticket to getting him. Mad Eye was convinced that sooner or later the man would lead him to something. The new information he had paid for in Diagon Alley told him Pritchard had been put in charge of a group of new Death Eaters. Alastor figured he could bring down the inexperienced bunch before they caused any trouble. He'd strike them before they could organize anything.

This was not a task Mad Eye had been assigned. It was one he had carved out for himself. This was his. Constructed out of his impatience. There was little concrete to go on and Moody had been left to tap his instincts. If pressed by Minerva, he would admit he felt this was a stab in the dark. He was guessing. But being a bit rash was better than doing nothing. It was better than standing there waiting to be knocked back on your heels.

_It was just as well that Shacklebolt was too busy defending the loyal members of the Wizengamot and the city of London to give me a proper task to do, _Alastor thought._ He wouldn't want to know what I'm up to. He can bust my balls when it's done... after I've caught hold of Pritchard and this new crop of Death Eaters no one wants to admit exists. _

Pritchard was sniffing around London. Alastor had not yet managed to follow the man back to any larger numbers of followers, however. Would he have to wait until Prichard dragged his underlings out for a recon? Would Alastor have to interrupt an actual attack to get his hands on these buggers? Worse, Alastor could not be sure of Pritchard's exact target.

The Millennium Bridge and five other high profile landmarks around London had been meticulously charmed by Mad Eye to warn of magical activity. He knew there would be some reconnaissance before any attack, and he would catch them at it.

It was 3 A.M. when the foe glass began to hum and glow. It showed him a picture of the Millenium Bridge bathed in purple. _Brooms, that meant. 6 or 8 of them. Were they attacking now and he had missed their recon? _Mad Eye wondered. He was out his door and in the air less than two minutes later. This might be his only chance to take out Pritchard's group. He wouldn't wait.

/

There had been whispered conversations as Hermione's hosts passed in and out of the kitchen. Thomas was relaying his impressions of her, no doubt. His grandfather, Len, was still standing by the fire.

Thomas' grandmother, Wendy, came in from the small kitchen with two mugs of hot chocolate. The young man loomed behind her with the second pair of mugs. As Hermione reached for hers, she saw the old woman was plainly distracted by the sight of her pendant. The old woman murmured something and clucked her tongue. Finally, she said, "This is very strange."

Hermione eyed Thomas hoping for an explanation, while his grandmother looked over to her husband.

"It is your pendant," Thomas whispered. "I noticed it before. The raised part of the compass rose is the same as the symbol for the Morning Star. And Morning Star is what my grand mother's name means, what Awendela means," he explained. "We all have more than one name here."

"So, morning star, like Venus?" Hermione asked.

"To us it has a meaning of... hope," his grandmother interjected with a smile.

"Hope?" Hermione tried to say lightly. Nervously, she wrapped her hand around the compass rose. She smiled crookedly then as she wondered at the contradiction... at the oddity. At the sense of transformation.

Everything changes. A compass rose becomes a morning star. A gift from a shattered man is a symbol of hope. Logic gives way to blind trust. _And Severus himself has changed_, she allowed herself to think. _If I let myself, I would see the same alteration in him, that a mere sense of destiny and direction has given way to a want of a future._

Thomas' grandfather had been waiting, Hermione realized, until she was ready to talk. His voice carried across the cabin although the tone was gentle. "Tell us exactly what is happening to you and your friends. It is obviously a grave thing. You are traveling alone and pregnant. You are very far from home. It is time for the whole story."

"Have you heard anything about the strange attacks that have happened in England? London mostly. There have been explosions. Some people disappeared," Hermione began after a fortifying breath.

"I read about those things. The official line seems to be that these attacks were possible because of unexplained technologies that the terrorist groups have," Thomas said.

"But it isn't a terrorist group. Well, not to your way of thinking. And it isn't a new technology," Hermione told him intently. But then she stopped abruptly.

"You are afraid to tell us something?" Wendy insisted.

"Go on. That's why you are here, right?" Len said.

Hermione nodded. "It is two groups that have abilities. Magical abilities. And it has become a war," Hermione finished in a worried voice.

She was nearly holding her breath waiting for the scoffing, but there was none. Only silence.

"And you?" Wendy asked.

Hermione removed her wand from her sweater sleeve and looked from one face to the other. She had done magic in front of Muggles before, obviously. Her parents had only gradually gotten used to it, but even they still flinched sometimes.

These faces were passive and accepting. Already different. She summoned her focus and produced her Patronus. Of those gathered, only Thomas seemed at all perturbed. She sensed his reaction was more worry as to what sort of trouble she brought with her, than amazement over her magic.

Once the flipping otter dissipated, she leaned forward and lit the candle on the table using her wand tip.

"You are looking for something," the old man said. He had acknowledged her display with a nod and the otter had earned a silent smile, but that was it. Hermione had to shake her head to keep up with the conversation now. "These other mounds you learned about... they have held weapons?" he continued. "Things that offer protection? But there is nothing like that here."

The day's coincidence and sense of progress seemed washed away in an instant. "But I swear," Hermione objected. "I saw this place in a dream. I feel like an idiot telling you that. But there were the mounds and the forest. There was a small house, a wood stove, the smell of smoke. It was so real."

"If you are in the right place, then you will find, perhaps, not what you are looking for, but what you need." So, he was not saying there was nothing for her here, she realized. Just that the things she thought she was looking for, weapons or protection, were not here. Hermione began to relax then and she nodded up at the man. "The idea of a soul being moved is not foreign to us, you are right. And I can tell you all of our stories about that. But, my grandson, Okomi..." Thomas' grandfather said as he raised an arm in the young man's direction. "I think you should confided in him about what else you need. He may be able to help you more than I can. I think he would be glad of some distractions," the old man added with a smile.

"Really, you can just call me 'Thomas,'" the younger man said with a tired smile.

The young man's grandmother suggested they might want to walk a bit before dinner was ready, and Thomas took Hermione outside to a sit on a bench.

...

"So, you live here with your grandparents?" Hermione asked, hoping to start a conversation that would not focus on her.

"I got out of the Army about 18 months ago. I wasn't sure what I wanted to do next," he said with his eyes on the sky. "My parents insisted I come here and stay a while to make sure my grandparents were doing alright. My being here eases their guilt over living out west," he said with a shrug. "But my grandfather's right. After 18 months of being here, just taking a class of two, accomplishing next to nothing other than drinking hot chocolate," he said to get Hermione to smile, "I could use a distraction. And I don't mind a problem to solve ... or a good fight," he assured her.

"Do you regret leaving the Army then?"

"Sometimes. But, really I was worn out on all the bullshit that went with the good parts of being a soldier. After a friend of mine got out, leaving started making more sense..." he drifted off then. Clearly thinking about something. "You have a battle ahead of you? Is that it? There will be some sort of show down between sides."

She nodded. "We can even be fairly certain where. And the when is ... well, soon." He surprised her then by simply nodding, calmly listening, as she explained about Voldemort, Hogwarts, Aurors and Death Eaters.

"And your friend. Harry. This piece of soul ..."

"A Horcrux, it's called."

"So, this Horcrux has to be removed. Destroyed, or the battle is un-winnable?"

"Right," she said, surprised he had made that connection.

"There are stories about men who craved power or immortality. They would move their souls. Place it in a bird, for instance. They were safe then... unless their enemies killed the bird. That's your problem then, isn't it?" he asked gently.

"Yes, everything I have seen tells me that we can't just remove the Horcrux, but that Harry would have to die. There would be no way around it. But there has to be," she said, as if wanting something that badly made it logical.

"Perhaps my grandfather will be able to tell you more. Some other way."

His grandmother waved them in from the window then. They walked for the cabin and as soon as Thomas opened the door, Hermione could smell the home cooking. She allowed herself to feel more and more comfortable to be there.

...

Len related a great number of stories to Hermione after dinner. Tales of souls moved and placed within animals. Tales from his tradition and the natives of Central America. She listened gratefully for hours, trying to find reason to hope.

She looked down at her hands after Len had finished. And then she said, "The only way to get rid of the moved soul is to destroy the vessel? There are no other stories. No other options."

"I've told you what is believed to be possible. I will not tell you anything else is impossible," he answered her.

It seemed sudden then when the evening ended. Thomas' grandparents said good night and walked down the single hallway of the cabin. Thomas stood over her, offering his hand to help her up. And now everything that needed to be said was coming in whispers. Was it the hour or the somberness of the situation?

She could see Thomas was pensive as he pulled his car into the parking lot of her motel. "Can you take a trip with me?" he asked. "If you are serious and you want help with defending this castle, then there is someone you should meet."

She couldn't possibly process another word tonight, but she nodded, "Let's talk about it tomorrow?"

He agreed with a simple nod. His face had gone quite serious, she thought, as if he had made a shift.

And she was right. He could sense the change, the aimless months of trying to guess what came next were over. He had a fight on his hands again. He was done sitting still.

/

It was completely out of the ordinary that Albus, in his weakened condition, should present himself at Minerva's door. She began to tense before he had said a thing. Seeing Poppy there behind him, Minerva knew was a cause for worry, and she felt her lips involuntarily press into a taut line. She gripped the knob of the open door firmly and motioned them in.

Albus stood in front of her now, and Poppy was moving to stand beside her. It was all happening in slow motion, but was still horribly unavoidable somehow. She felt trapped. Panicked. She willed the situation to move faster. To present itself to be reckoned with. To meet this new frantic pace her heart had suddenly chosen. Her eyes locked on her old friend's mouth, waiting for the words, as if she was unsure she could trust her ears alone suddenly.

"Alastor's missing, Minerva."

Poppy had a hold of the tall woman's arm now, and Minerva shot her a displeased glance. "Missing? Hiding, no doubt. He told me no one would be able to find him. He'll show..."

Albus stepped forward to take her other elbow, and his voice was low and kind as he told her, "His modified broom was in pieces. Shot out of the sky near the Millenium Bridge. Two Death Eaters were found... dead." Minerva shook her head as if to deny that was a grave sign. "Minerva, they found his eye patch. A boot and fragments of his trousers."

She knew she was wavering in their grasp as soon as she felt their hands tighten on her in response. And she would have none of that.

"Get out," she whispered to the pair.

"Minerva..." Poppy began, all too gently.

"Now. Get out," she growled.

And reluctantly her visitors agreed.

/


	44. Chapter 44

**A/N: Thanks, guys, for the friendly nudges. I'm still here! A longish chapter (by MyMadness standards) for you. **

* * *

Hermione and Thomas talked on their way down the endless seeming highway. And Hermione fiddled with the radio and switched out CDs in between their conversations. Thomas did not elaborate beyond what was necessary, but he did not duck her questions. He'd been a special forces soldier. An officer who had not wanted to stay when his next rotation would lead him away from the Green Berets.

Hermione found she was willing to talk about almost anything. Just not about Severus or the seeming madness that had resulted in the decision to get pregnant.

After 6 hours on the road, he pulled into a motel near Charleston, West Virginia. He lingered there, his hand still on the keys in the ignition. "Two rooms?" he asked. "Or one? Are we working on a budget? Well, are you? I know I am," he said with a smile. "Either way," he insisted with a touch of embarrassment and nervousness that belied his experience in the world.

Hermione's mind turned, but found no mark to rest on. It was a minor puzzle, but one she was too tired or too unwilling to chase down. There were finances to consider, she told herself After all, she was spending money that was not really hers. But the threat of loneliness begged to be considered, as well. She had spent entirely too many days and nights alone in the past few months.

Perhaps, propriety should enter into the equation, a far off thought sparked. But that was quickly quelled. She was tired of the isolation. Of fending for herself. Of being every hotel's friendless pregnant stranger. So, she told him, one room would be fine.

And it was fine. There was precious little awkwardness. It was just two tired friends in two single beds, watching T.V. and eating take out pizza. It was a lovely bit of normalcy for the girl who felt she had lost her closest companions. Who was sure she had lost any hope for a normal life.

###

They got a late start the next day, and again, stopped often to the relief of Hermione's pregnant bladder. Just after dinner Thomas found them a motel off the highway outside Fayetteville, North Carolina.

It was 8 p.m. and Hermione could easily have wished the day over. But once they had transferred the little luggage they had into the one room, they continued into downtown Fayetteville. It was a hard up seeming city. A striking counter point to the simplicity and welcoming nature of the Midwest towns she had just been in. The bar they parked beside was somehow worse than the pawn shops and adult video stores that surrounded it.

Worse, perhaps because she knew she needed to get out of the safety of Thomas' car now, and she would be completely out of her element here. Once on the pavement, she wrapped her arms around herself in response to the evening's slight chill and the general feeling of apprehension. Her eyes slid to Thomas' long form as he unfolded himself from the jeep, and she saw he understood. "Military town," he explained. And then without a pause he asked, "Are you cold? Let me get you my sweatshirt."

It was a comfort somehow, hearing consideration and concern in his voice just then. And she took the oversized thing from him without hesitation. The soft cotton gave her something to snuggle against, to hide inside. And she thought with a guilty pang, that there was something inappropriate in her desire to pull the man's smell from the collar and into her lungs.

But she did it.

And she wondered at the way her misgivings gave way all too easily. She watched her small hands turn up the cuffs in an act of impulsive possessiveness as she made the shirt her own.

Perhaps he saw that she was properly armed now and ready for this new place, because he began to move forward. 'Seedy' and 'dangerous' were the words that involuntary leaped to her mind as they walked toward the bar. It was all disturbingly macho. She wondered if that would describe the man they were here to meet.

'Death from Above' was painted expertly on the brick wall they walked beside. And underneath there was the Special Forces crest and their official motto in fading paint: 'De Oppresso Liber.' "To Liberate the Oppressed," Daniel said quietly, echoing Hermione's reading of the Latin.

"Yes ..." She looked at him and then looked away to finish her thought. And was that what the proud Wizarding community had allowed itself to become? The oppressed?

God, how had they let it get this way? How had a path to ending the war led here? Not that it was wrong to get help. But _**here**_ on a dirty street thousands of miles from home? She couldn't help but question her judgment and fate's penchant for malicious humor.

Thomas pulled the heavy door open and preceded her in. Chivalry here, they both understood, dictated that he not let her enter the strange place in front of him.

The former soldier scanned the bar as they walked slowly toward the wall of booths. Thomas' pace quickened a bit then. He must have seen who they were looking for, Hermione decided, while she had been taking note of the smoke and the age of the place.

Hermione registered, but repressed the surprise she felt when Thomas stopped in front of a woman sitting alone. "Elinore! You're here," he said in a teasing voice. The stranger rolled her eyes at him and pushed out of the booth. She was blonde, her hair a middle length and she was likely in her late 20s.

The simple action of moving to stand to greet them revealed a multitude in seconds. She was a confident woman, Hermione decided as she watched the quirky smile that answered Thomas' taunt. And tall and decidedly fit. If everyone she was meeting was part of a double world, destined to remind her of people back home, this woman was Madam Hooch. Physically, they would be night and day, but the similarity was there in the stance. The readiness. The humor in the tight, wry smile.

Standing between the two, the young witch suddenly felt awkward, like a child about to be told she was out too late.

"Ellie Loomis," the woman said as she extended a hand toward Hermione. As she pulled the hand back to her side, Elinore took the chance to quickly poke Thomas in the ribs, something he seemed to be expecting and had willingly not avoided.

"Thomas called me. Said you were looking for help." The last word came out with significance and an odd emphasis. For a flash Hermione pictured herself in the middle of some American action movie. She was the innocent, led to her meeting with the mercenary who had consented to hear her story. But this woman was decidedly not the person she would have cast in that role.

"I can't help but wonder why you are here, though," Ellie began once the three of them had slid into the booth. "They do have cops in England?" she said with a sarcasm that Hermione admitted was not unwarranted.

"We are a bit out of society," Hermione explained finally. "Not really eligible for government protection when it comes to this particular location."

There was a raised eyebrow and a look at Thomas that clearly asked if Hermione and this situation was for real. The former Green Beret nodded almost imperceptively.

"It's your type of job. Really, Ellie," Thomas whispered intently. The use of the preferred nickname was part of the plea for patience, Hermione guessed.

Thomas turned to Hermione then, and in quiet tones, he described the work that Elinore had done since she had left the Army 4 years previously. He called it 'her family business.' Hermione looked at the woman quizzically, thinking an explanation might be coming. Ellie, for her part, turned quick, scathing eyes to Thomas.

But the man continued undaunted, telling Hermione that Elinore's family had a history of taking on causes. They had been abolitionists involved with the Underground Railroad, were among the Oberlin Volunteers at Harper's Ferry, had fought in the Abraham Lincoln Brigade during the Spanish Civil War. And had flown with the Flying Tigers. Her family tree seemed to encompass every righteous fight in the last two centuries. And that tree ended here, with a woman who, Hermione guessed, was something of a well-meaning mercenary. Thomas wound up the quick speech by explaining that Elinore had just spent a year in Africa, building and protecting women's villages.

"And you worked together in the Army?" Hermione asked.

"We were part of the same task force... Not to sound cliched," she said with another pull at her drink, "but it isn't something we can really talk about. Not that it is something that really matters anymore," she said with a shrug.

"How does all this help me?" Hermione asked rather numbly. The comment might have been to herself rather than the two friends in the booth with her.

"Hogwarts," Thomas said as if to remind her. "This castle you need defended. Ellie can manage that..."

"On her own?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Maybe," Ellie fired at her before quickly turning to Thomas. "But slow down. I haven't agreed."

Hermione was surprised the words had not been, 'You're kidding. A castle?' But the belief that Thomas placed in Hermione's story carried significant weight with the tall woman. "I need to know a lot more before I start putting things together and jumping on a plane. There must be a 'why' behind this whole fight I have never heard of. What are the sides? The numbers? On both sides. Weapons..."

Thomas' face twisted into a unconstrained smile that caught both Hermione and Elinore off guard. "This is the part where it gets good," he told his old friend. "You are not going to want to miss out on this one, Ellie. But let's finish talking outside."

/

The girls watched Seamus come in for breakfast, as they did every day recently. Their stares followed him, and then he would see what invariable happened next. The boys' heads would turn in question to find what had snared the girls' attention.

He was strangely beyond finding the experience anything but a bit tiring. He felt almost otherworldly lately. He was no longer a boy or a student. He was more than a 'squire' now, as the old Auror had called him before Queen Maeve.

That memory poked at him. Moody had been rough on him, maybe. But Seamus felt the loss of that man keenly now. He cast his eyes up to where the staff sat with that man on his mind, and settled onto the bench at his usual table.

He watched the Deputy Headmistress. The weight of her sorrow was plain to those who cared enough to look. When Seamus had returned from the trip to Sligo, he had gradually begun to envy the old Auror. Moody had had someone to fight for. Now that Moody was dead, Seamus could see that ghost hanging here. Shrouding the old witch.

McGonagall, his recent insight told him, had been that woman Moody had spoken of to the queen. For all the tragedy in the situation, Seamus wanted nothing more than what Alastor had found. His worthy woman, his queen. And his fight.

When death comes to a hero, Seamus thought, there should be at least that comfort, that knowledge. As you throw everything into that last fight, your heart and mind should be able to rest easy knowing that your boldness in life had been rewarded with the love of worthy woman. Finnigan turned his head away to stop the strange thoughts. When had _**he**_ been the type to dwell on these types of things, he had to wonder.

To Seamus, every day now was like being high on caffeine and Pepper up. Even at the end of the day, when he should be tired and able to sleep, it was as if testosterone and firewhiskey were whizzing through his veins. There was purpose in him now that would not be denied and the power to get those things done.

But these changes had left him feeling separated from most of the students around him. He didn't mind the sense of distance, though. These were welcomed, meaningful changes that had transformed his mind, his attitude and his body.

In his narrow bed at night, he groaned with the admission that it was his body that was most distinctly registering these changes. What pulsed through him now was a distracting need. It was a flooding heat that made him want to press one of these dotty, innocent things to the wall and give her what her coy smile seemed to ask for. But they were only girls. Not necessarily unworthy, but unready. Ridiculously unready for him.

He needed that _**one**_ woman. A woman like Queen Maeve. Strong, capable. Mature. He pictured his lady, when the want of skin to touch teased at him. She would be young and tall. Almost as tall as he was. She would stand before him with a willowy ease in gauze-like robes. Her smile would ease his mind. Long hair would blow out behind her in stereotypical fashion, buoyed by some unfelt wind.

_He would kiss her in question, and she would draw him in. Her kisses would be fierce with needing him. _That was how the fantasy went.

This was weakness, he briefly worried as he registered the sweet friction of his hand to the front of his pajamas. But he needed to shake off this tension while he waited for his fight. And so, Seamus Finnigan, unlikely hero and virgin, imagine the touches were hers. Imagined that queen he had yet to meet. And wished that whispered words of support and adoration were already there.

/

Hermione explained it all to Elinore as they stood in the parking lot, sheltered between two cars. With the practice of the past week, she could speak of the fantastical now to Muggles with something approaching ease. The tall woman had turned her gaze to Thomas occasionally for confirmation that this was all real. Her attitude changed visibly as Hermione moved from explanation to demonstration. Elinore went from crossed armed disbelief, to confusion, and finally resolution in that dark parking lot.

Suddenly, then the blonde Muggle reached a point where she could process no more. Her mind was already trying to work on what she had seen and heard. Elinore raised her palm to stop the continued dialogue, and they all stood in silence for a moment before she gave them her verdict. "Let's meet at my place tomorrow night," Elinore told them. But she shook her head as she said it, as if she doubted her own judgment now more than anything else.

"Done," Thomas said happily. He leaned in now and kissed his old friend quickly and chastely on the cheek in a way that was most likely meant to tease her. Ellie seemed to barely notice. Her eyes were far away. Her mind was obviously tumbling over the idea of castles and wizards, an enemy who might come in by broom or simply appear. She gave her head another firm shake and retrieved her car keys from her jeans.

"Tomorrow," she said in parting.

/

"What happens now," Hermione asked Thomas as they sat on separate beds . A single lamp on a motel table between them was their only light.

"Ellie and I need to talk more about this. She'll think about it. She has to decide that she can trust this. And then she and I can decide exactly what we can do. How we can help."

"But against magic..."

"It's a different sort of weapon, sure. But from what you have said, it's like every other. Its range has a limit. In most cases, you need to be seen to have someone use magic against you?"

"Most cases, yes..."

"And conventional things kill wizards, right?"

"Yes," Hermione said with a bit of a chill.

"It's not what you want to do. I know. But it's what they will do to you if they aren't stopped."

"Yes," she agreed.

Hermione suddenly felt that she and her friends had been playing at something Thomas knew all to well. For all their bravado and principals and bookish research, she could see now exactly what Dumbledore's Army had been. Children who had gotten lucky while playing at a very real, very deadly game. Somewhere out there had Harry and Ron, Luna and Dean, Seamus and Neville, and all the others come to this conclusion too?

She curled up on her side and she surreptitiously watched him as he got up and moved around the room. She wondered at the hard truths he was capable of. The commitment he could show her so quickly.

It made her question her own commitment and resolve. _Why continue this fight?_ she wondered. _Why risk my life, the baby's and now Thomas' and Ellie's? _

_I could stay here, just not go back. Not face it all. Thomas would find a place for me. I could make my way somehow. Go to university here. Get a job. Have friends. Have a life._

She let herself think all manner of traitorous thoughts. But only for a moment.

Hermione settled lower into her bed finally and asked about the mounds. "Why were they built? And how?"

"We don't know," he said as he returned to lie in his bed. "We can't tie these mounds to any of the tribes in America now. But these must have been amazing people, capable of incredible vision and accomplishments to build such places.

"We think they were constructed by people like our tribes, but none of our history covers these forgotten civilizations. My grandfather likes that, I suppose. He could have settled somewhere else, chosen a different cause. But he is happy to see the mounds stay a mystery. No matter how many people come to poke at them, they refuse to give up their secrets. Maybe they are a symbol to my grandfather that the Native American's legacy can not be blotted out. The mounds remind me that there are things we cannot know, things that came before but remain with us still. It is a lesson that there are people and things now that we are in danger of losing. There are things that could go the way of the mound builders, if we are not careful.

"Since I've met you, I've thought..." he trailed off then.

"What," she prompted gently.

"The Angel Mound has battle works around it... like a castle. No one who studies that site ever tells us that there is any sign of a battle. But what if there was one? What if the Mound Builders tried to defend their castle but were driven out. Dispersed, losing their secrets and abilities."

"And the victors?"

"What if no one won? What if the two groups so weakened each other that they ...died off?"

The silence was heavy then.

"Let me tell you something happier now," he suggested. "Close your eyes and I will tell you the stories my grandmother reminded me of before our trip. Let me tell you about your totem."

"My totem?"

"Your animal spirit guide."

"Ah," she said managing to smile. "My Protonus." And she shut her eyes then.

"Otters," he began, "like you Little Otter," he teased, "find everything they need near their rivers. Just as you have come to these mounds that lie all up and down the Mississippi. Now, otters are very territorial, they do not mind living alone. From this we learn independence and self-reliance."

"Lately? I mind," she joked quietly. And when he continued, she heard the smile in his voice.

"Otters are very playful and are frequently seen relaxing on their backs in the water soaking up the sun. Or sliding on their bellies, playing tag in the water. Their relaxed and happy attitude reminds us to laugh and enjoy life."

"This is _**so**_ not me," she protested. She opened her eyes to spy on him, and he reminded her with a wordless flick of his fingers to close them again.

"The otter likes to talk and they are often heard chatting with anyone within earshot. "

"I may _**know**_ a few otters, but..."

"Ah, well, otters are curious. Does that sound familiar? They touch and smell everything they find to learn more. This teaches the people to always examine each new situation. To look at the people and things in our life from different angles and to always be ready for something new.

"But, perhaps this is the part you will like most. Otters are very good parents. Loving and nurturing their babies far longer than most mammals. And they welcome their neighbors. Otter teaches us to find the nurturing energies within us."

"And what about your animal spirit guide?" she asked with a sleepy look.

"Ah. I don't know that I have one. My grandfather would tell you that that is because I have turned my back on too many things. But my name means 'coyote.' Some say Coyote is a trickster," he said with a small wag of his eyebrows. "In some stories he is merely wise and wiley, teaching the people lessons. But in others he is lascivious, tempting women away from their fathers or husbands.

"One story I remember tells the lengths to which Coyote will go to have a pretty girl. During a dance, a young woman tells the men to expose their penises because she will marry the man with the smallest," Thomas explained with a devilish smile. "Coyote uses his magic to exchange penises with Mouse. The girl chooses him, but Coyote's triumph lasts only until everyone sees Mouse trying to return home, dragging Coyote's huge equipment."

"Oh, God, Thomas," she said with a girlish giggle. She snuggled down deeper into the covers.

"Good night." And with a smile, he switched off the light.

/

In the days that followed, Hermione, Thomas and Ellie talked about Hogwarts and what could be expected from the Death Eaters. What worked in their favor, Hermione explained was the over confidence of Voldemort's followers. And their lack of imagination. It would never occur to them that the castle was being protected, in part, using Muggle means. And the irony that Muggle weapons could play a role in defeating them was too strangely satisfying.

The things Ellie was able to get did not seem enough to repel a large force of Death Eaters. But she was not equipping an army, just her and Thomas. As the defenders, they had the advantage, Thomas reminded her. As a planning factor, the defenders can be expected to win if the opposing force does not outnumber them by at least 6 to 1. It amazed Hermione that someone had quantified all this. Studied it so emotionlessly.

Somehow Elinore was able to acquire claymore mines, a few rifles, ammunition, and radios. Once Hermione had reduced them, they looked like ridiculous toys. She considered getting one of those soldier action figures boys are so fond of to pack with them. The airport screeners would be thoroughly convinced of how harmless these items were even without that, however.

"We'll follow in two weeks. Does that sound good, Hermione?" Thomas asked. She nodded dully, past believing this was happening. She had somehow ended up with a suitcase full of Muggle weapons and the willing assistance of two new friends.

It seemed apt though. She was down two friends recently. It had been a long time since she had indulged her self pity enough to think about the way that she and Harry and Ron had parted.

/

Severus was not fond of Deja vu. It was the sort of thing that made him sure he was losing his mind or that he was stretched too thin. But here he was, yet again wondering if he should forfeit his pride and check to see if Hermione was back from her travels. She had sent him a message through incredibly circuitous means. A letter through the Muggle post reached the Hog's Head from North Carolina, and Aberforth contacted him to come retrieve it.

He was going to wait until _**she**_ contacted _**him **_to say she was back at her flat, he thought resolutely. But a ticking in his chest told him her plane should have landed exactly 2 and a half hours ago.

He turned his attention back to his dinner and the faint hum of student and teacher conversations around him. Lifting his gaze then, he caught sight of an unscheduled owl heading for the head table. He feigned disinterest, but held his breath, thinking it would be word from Hermione. With the pale, grieving Minerva McGonagall near by, he felt almost guilty thinking about Hermione.

The skittish bird bypassed him and stood by Minerva. Hooch lent her a hand with retrieving the message, as the deputy headmistress moved with sluggish distraction. The flying instructor, Snape noticed with amusement, was not quite able to conceal her interest in the message Minerva was reading. With a smirk, he watched Rolanda carefully strain her eyes to read the page her neighbor held. And then at the same moment Minerva tensed, Rolanda mouthed the words, "Good God, Explosions? How many buildings?"

"Where?" came Filius Flitwick's hushed question from Minerva's other side.

"Diagon Alley. At least a dozen shops," Rolanda replied, her hand full on the paper now to steady it.

It was if his body had been pent up waiting for some direction, waiting for the answer as to what to do. And Severus had it now. In a heart beat his chair was shoved back with a bitter scrape, and he stood. He paused a brief second to lower his napkin to his plate as if this was an ordinary leave taking, and then he took long steps to the door behind the dias.

As he pulled the door shut behind him, another owl entered. This one nearly outsized by the small parcel it carried.

With the head table in a hushed conversation over the news from Diagon Alley, the little bird went untended until Madam Hooch leaned forward and scooped the thing up. Reading the scrawl on the wrapping, she pushed the package into Minerva's distracted grasp, and went back to reassuring Trelawny that the Aurors would have things in London under control by now.

Some innate sense made the flying instructor turn back to see what Minerva had made of her package. Ready reflexes and her talent for reading others made Rolanda rise then in perfect sync with the pale transfiguration professor.

There was a fluid step closer and a hand to an elbow before anyone at the table had broken their conversations. Instinct told Rolanda that Minerva's sudden desire to escape the Great Hall was far stronger than her current physical abilities.

With a firm arm looped around the tall witch, Hooch piloted the pair of them through the door behind the table. Once through and into the hallway beyond, Rolanda enlisted the aid of the far wall to help support the deputy headmistress, and wanded the door closed to seal them off from prying eyes.

The younger witch said nothing, she just held Minerva lightly while she looked from the tall woman's face to the package and letter she gripped. Rolanda thought the woman looked like she was going to cry as she squeezed her eyes shut, but remarkably Minerva started to laugh. It came tentatively at first, and as something like relief washed over Minerva's face, the laugh turn deep, chesty, and unbridled.

Minerva was squeezing Rolanda's arm now, and the laughter subsided into a series of choked sobs then. The tall witch lifted the small package that she still clutched and open the top so that her friend could she the contents.

"What, Min? It looks like a silk handkerchief to me. Tell me what the hell is going on," Hooch begged.

/

The potion master's brain ticked off a list of profanity in six languages while he tore across the grass for a point outside the Headmaster's ward against apparition. "Merde! Putain de merde ! Putain de bordel de merde," flew from him in time with his footfalls. "Rahat!" he growled as his heels dug in finally. And he turned to Apparate.

"Sheisse verdammt," he ground out as he saw the front of Hecate's Discreet Book Dealings coalesce before him. "Fuck," he said quietly, as he surveyed the heavy damage to the shop's door and windows.

There were bricks in the street and the windows were blown in. Tattered curtains were streaming from Hermione's second floor flat. The air was filled with lingering dust and smoke.

He was shouldering his way through the blocked doorway when a hand pulled at his coat.

"She's not in there, Professor."

"Is anyone?" Severus replied, trying not too seem too surprised that Bill Weasley would begin a conversation so bluntly.

"No. Gandymeade is lucky the wards held as well as they did. A few bricks crashed on him. He got his fill of smoke. But other than that. Nothing. Those wards were quite well done," Bill said patting a wall that had resolutely remained standing. "Certainly not Gandymeade's doing."

Severus shot him a curious look. Bill's expression was not a childish grin at having found him out. It wasn't a boastful look at all. But he knew. Bill knew something. Knew enough. And in that eery, uncomfortable silence that passed between them, Severus decided that Bill, unlike his father, wasn't moved to intercede.

The potions professor pushed forward, stepping over the remains of a dozen shelves of books. "Were you here when the explosions happened? Are you sure she wasn't here somewhere," he said, still avoiding the use of Hermione's name.

"I can't be positive, Professor..."

_Of course he couldn't. God_, Severus thought with a small groan. _Just how desperate and distraught do I sound?_

"But Gandymeade hasn't seen her either," Bill continued. "I talked to him quickly. He said he was the only one here when the building next door went up. He got out the back. He's over at the Leaky Cauldron now, and not very sober..." Weasley added with a small smile.

Severus' brain was moving sluggishly. He could feel the labored movements and he cursed himself. He drove his thumb nail hard into his index finger to make himself focus.

"She can likely manage herself," he blustered, as his thoughts began to align finally. "But if you see her, Mr. Weasley. Bring her to Hogsmeade. The Hog's Head."

"That's a good idea, Professor. I don't like the idea of her roaming around here pregnant looking for a place to stay..."

And Severus could swear that the phrase that hung in air was, _"any more than you do."_

/

"Tell me what it is, Minerva," Hooch insisted. She had given up looking at the package and was giving McGonagall a faint shaking.

Still, words continued to fail the normally unflappable Scot. So, Rolanda reached into the box with a single tentative finger and pulled the red silk out.

"Jesus, Min?" Hooch squeaked. "Knickers? Knickers put you into a state like this?"

"That ridiculous, beautiful bastard..." was all Minerva managed before she choked up again.

"Oh, you've lost me now, girl," Hooch said.

Minerva dropped the box and the knickers to the floor so she could better handle the note that had been included. She uncrinkled it and held it up for Rolanda.

"Read it," she managed in a cracking voice.

" 'Set me as a seal upon thine heart,' the flying instructor read. " 'And set these silks upon thine rosey Scottish bum.'? It doesn't even rhyme, Minerva."

Minerva rolled her eyes at the spiky-haired witch and snatched the paper back. "It has to be from Alastor."

And the shorter woman smiled broadly as realization hit her. "The sneaky, sneaky bastard," Hooch said.

"... is alive," Minerva finished for her.

* * *

A/N: The coyote legend information from the wiki page on coyote (mythology) and the web site: oncampus dot richmond dot edu

My apologies for anything I have mangled or any offense I may inadvertently cause in my portrayal of various locales and cultures.


	45. Chapter 45

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews and the "adds." It is always a huge bright spot in my day to get something like that in my inbox. __Tell me it isn't just because you are all just stuck in the snow with nothing to do... ? __I am sorry to have been away so long before. I had been trying to figure out what to do with my life. Nothing came to me, unfortunately :) Thanks for the help, Sel! _

* * *

Hermione quickly found her own way to the Hog's Head when she saw the destruction in Diagon Alley. Aberforth did not give her back her previous room, however. He placed her in a building behind the inn, the first floor of which was over run by goats.

He brought her her dinner in a pail like the one he used for the goats' evening meal. She must have noticeably balked when she saw him unloading it onto the table, because he chuckled.

"I don't get my pails mixed up. This one's only for people food." He put the sandwich and fruit down and even pulled out a large cloth napkin. "All of this subterfuge. It's because no one knows you are here. I was paid well to keep your being here a secret. Not many people know about these rooms over the barn," he said with a wink.

The thick set man made to leave and then stopped. One hand on the door, he surprised her by turning back. "How's the baby?" he asked in a completely different voice.

"Fine?" It was obvious she was caught off guard by his show of emotion. "Thank you," she said, recovering and smiling finally.

Was it merely money, Hermione wondered once the inn's proprietor was closing her door. Or was Aberforth strangely loyal to Severus?

///

"All this traveling has made you ill," Severus said with strong disapproval.

She could be equally contentious, she decided, especially when she felt so lousy, and he seemed so cold. And so she told him, "Maybe, it is being back here that has done it." She blew her nose for effect and groaned at the pain in her head.

She didn't have to look at him to recognize the grinding of teeth. She took herself out of the room, determined to ignore the signs that things were heading south, and hopeful that she could salvage some of this visit. While she washed up in her bathroom, she called out to him through the open door. She ticked off her points at the pacing man. "I don't want to fight. I'm happy to be back. The trip was worth making. And it's _**just**_ a touch of a cold."

The trip had been a problem in one respect she admitted. Having been away made it all the more apparent to her that Severus was distant and difficult at time like these. She wondered that she could have ever compared him to the placid Thomas.

Instantly, she hated herself for thinking it, for pulling Thomas to mind when she was with Snape.

It was worse, because she hadn't told Severus about Thomas or Ellie. In a letter, Minerva had convinced her that he wouldn't want to risk knowing. For the lack of a better, more savory term, these were the End Times. Severus and everyone near Voldemort would be severely tested for their secrets as the dark wizard became more and more desperate. The less Severus knew, the safer everyone was.

And she needed this man safe. She closed her eyes as she stood in front of her sink and nearly groaned with her efforts to concentrate.

_She needed this war done. She needed to see this man through this. _

_Because the Order needed him. Dumbledore needed him. _

_Her hand swept over her belly and she knew she would admit it. She would be selfish. _

_**She** needed him. _

_She wanted to believe that in a world she could not even picture, when this war was over, that he would be willing to see her differently. To love her. To be with her. And in more permanent fashion._

_She didn't want to lose him just as she was taking on a baby. His baby. _

Feeling focused at last, she walked to where he was standing. He had stopped his pacing and turned his back to her and the room. Months of practice told her it was not disdain or rejection he was projecting. Just his unease. Discomfort. And exhaustion.

"Thank you," she said, as she wound her arms around him from behind. "I'm glad you're here." He said nothing, but she felt his stance soften. She watched his chin sink to his chest. It spoke volumes coming from him. There was trust between them, she reassured herself. He was willing to take some comfort from her touch. And if she understood him at all then, she knew he was echoing her thoughts.

_God, let this war end. _

"I keep wondering," he said then in voice that wasn't quite his own. "What I could have done differently. If I'll know..."

"If you'll know?"

"...when it's the last time ..." he cleared his throat, changed underneath her touch. "You need to be careful. Watch out for yourself. Do you understand? No dramatics. No heroics," he growled. "I may be of no use to you once I am even more firmly under Voldemort's control. You have put yourself in a very difficult position."

He covered her one hand with his then to hold it tighter to his chest. She pressed her head against his back, closed her eyes, and prayed as she never had before.

////

Three days later, he pushed softly through her door when his knock went ignored. He eased his steps as he walked to the bed where she lay sleeping.

He was not immediately aware that something was wrong. She had taken to having a nap in the afternoon. With her research keeping her up until all hours and her increasing tiredness, it was not surprising to find her in bed before dinner. He stole closer to her and raised the shade at the window by her bed.

Immediately, he saw that she was not well. She was sweating, and even at this distance he could hear that her breathing had a bit of a wheeze to it. He put his hand to her forehead and felt his stomach drop when he registered how hot she was.

"Just a cold?" he said with irritation. "Damn it!"

He wrapped her in a blanket against the chill and prepared to lift her. She had gained a good twenty pounds, he decided as he brought her to his chest with a groan.

He needed to get her to Madam Pomfrey, he knew. But he hesitated as he cradled her. He would take one traitorous, unguarded moment to allow the rush of emotion to have its way with him - just one moment before self preservation demanded he shut everything out.

He felt a thousand things, things he knew he was not man enough to name. Mostly, as he looked at her, he just ached wretchedly inside.

Turning with fresh determination, he Apparated to the gate at Hogwarts . He marched then without hesitation for the castle.

He answered no one who spoke to him. He found he was blind to everything, but the path to Pomfrey's ward. His heart raced noticeably. Hermione was ill, yes. But it was because he knew it was _**this**_ move, carrying her through the castle, that was going to push everyone's plans forward.

"Poppy," he called, as he pushed the Infirmary door open with a kick of his boot.

The matron was in front of him quickly, knowing that tone of voice. She touched Hermione's forehead with one hand and used a diagnostic wand with the other. She looked at Severus critically, a dozen questions obviously springing to mind, but she didn't quiz him on what this strange appearance meant.

"Pneumonia," she pronounced. "A fever. And she is not getting enough oxygen to suit me."

"A bed," Severus groaned. "I am too old for these heroic displays."

"Put her in your usual room, would you?" And Severus was heartened by the Matron's touch of humor that hopefully meant Hermione's condition was not too serious. "We will need the privacy for her." And again the old witch's look seemed to beg Severus to explain this. But he glowered back, playing his part.

Once he had placed her in the bed, he turned to watch Poppy bustle about drawing potions and supplies, and placing them on a charmed cart that followed her.

He moved to leave the room quietly as Poppy bent over Hermione. "Severus," Poppy bellowed, as he crept away. He ignored her and continued for the door. "Bastard," she murmured. The Matron turned her wand in the direction of the door and whispered, "Phalli Obfirmo."

As she continue to care for the girl, Hermione roused a bit.

"Where is he?" the young witch managed softly. There was something in the way Hermione said the words that froze the Matron. But Poppy refused to give her confused thoughts quarter. She couldn't afford to stop and wonder if the girl cared for him or he for her. There was the illness to manage.

"Shush, girl," Pomfrey managed after a heavy swallow.

Severus found that the door would not open for him, and he began to fume. Turning to confront Poppy, he was set upon by her Patronus, an overly energetic dolphin that circled him before it passed through the wood of the door.

He withdrew his wand and cast at least 5 spells that should have unlocked the door. After each one, he pulled on the handle and became more agitated.

Suddenly, the door was pushed open from the other side. Minerva burst in, rosy cheeked with the rush that had brought her there. She blocked Severus' way while she let the door close behind her, and she extended a hand to the man's chest. Finally, he reached around her and pulled on the door, but it was once again locked to him.

"Damn it, Poppy," he murmured as if speaking to the door.

"Save your breath, Severus," Minerva told him with a crooked eyebrow. "You'll not be leaving until she wants you to."

He returned to Hermione's room with Minerva at his elbow.

"Phalli Obfirmo, Severus," Poppy said without even a look at him. "That door is locked to anyone with a penis."

Minerva's expression offered him no comfort or sympathy.

"Healers have to use that more than you can imagine," the Matron continued. "Men have so little sense in matters of illness or pregnancy."

"But, how is she?" Minerva asked.

"She'll be alright. But she might be here a week. It's pneumonia," Poppy said, looking up finally. She pushed bottles of the foul liquid she had extracted from the young witch across the cart. "I've nearly got all the fluid from her lungs. Poor tike wasn't getting enough oxygen either. By which I mean the _**baby**_, in case you are wondering, Severus," Poppy said, pausing long enough to fix him with a humorless look. "And it is too early for him to make an appearance."

Severus rolled his eyes, but decided against a reply.

"Severus, help me here," Poppy said in a tone that would be ignored by only the insane. "Lift her up. I need to get these into her. We need to head off the infection and bring her fever down. Now, have there been any complications with the pregnancy? How many weeks along is she? What midwife has she been seeing? Is she on any medications? What has she been taking for this pneumonia?"

He didn't answer fast enough for Poppy though."You've walked into my ward with the girl. She's pregnant, quite obviously. Did you want me to ignore that part of things? This is not idle curiosity on my part. This is important, Severus."

"It's not his fault," Hermione weakly objected without even opening her eyes. Poppy shook her head at the obvious depth of loyalty in the former Head Girl.

"Be of use, Severus, and answer the damn questions," Minerva said tensely.

"She's 30 weeks now, I think," Severus said. She was seeing Mistress Battleworth, the midwife, in Hogsmeade. She was taking all manner of things for the cold, some Muggle things as well as Pepper up. But her cough got worse. I found her like this this afternoon, but it had been over a day since I had seen her last."

Poppy busied herself with preparing a vial then, and was muttering as she worked, "Well, that would explain the increase in her blood pressure. No use giving her more Pepper up then."

Severus lifted the limp girl and looked to Poppy for approval. "Tell her to open up, Severus," Poppy said impatiently.

He leaned closer to Hermione's ear. "Open up, Girl," he grumbled. "Poppy needs to get something down you."

"Minerva, pull the girl up until she is sitting, please." It did not escape Severus' notice that Poppy spoke to Minerva in a sweet tone meant to highlight the barbarous way she spoke to him.

Hermione groaned and her body lolled about. "Severus. Take a seat on the bed behind her." The man hesitated. "Do it, Severus," Poppy complained. "I need someone to hold her up. I need to get these down her and I need to make sure they stay down! She'll breathe better if she is sitting up, too."

After Severus had seated himself with a shoulder behind the girl, Minerva gingerly lowered her until she was resting against him. He held her head. Finally, he lowered his mouth to her ear. "Hermione, Poppy needs to get some medicine down you . Open up," he said softly now. And he pulled her hair back from her face and rubbed at her jaw.

"Severus?" Hermione managed.

"Yes, now let Poppy get these potions down you. There is no feeling better until you do."

"The baby?" she said, and she fluttered her eyes open searching for Poppy. Severus kept his eyes down to avoid the women at hand. But he found he was waiting for the answer.

"He's fine, girl," Poppy said. "No thanks to you ignoring your symptoms."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, after the vial had been emptied into her.

"Shhh," Severus whispered almost gently into Hermione's ear.

The sound of the Infirmary door swinging open brought Minerva and Severus' eyes away from Hermione. Severus tensed a bit seeing Dumbledore, despite having predicted this part of the play. There was an ashen look to the Headmaster's face. But his frailty seemed momentarily in abeyance.

"Severus?" Albus questioned steadily.

"Don't cross me on this, old man," the potion master said grimly. Severus' reply sent shivers through the old matron and momentarily stopped her work.

Severus eased Hermione back down on to the bed and stood. He glared at Albus a moment before stalking from the room and into the Infirmary proper.

"If you two would also leave a moment," the headmaster said, "I would speak with the former Head Girl privately."

###

Once he was alone with her, Dumbledore touched Hermione's hand gently. He made himself take in the full measure of her illness and the large sweep to her belly that seemed so unnatural in her. It was a minor penance for so large a sin as his.

"I asked too much," he finally told her. "Please forgive me."

"Headmaster?" Hermione asked weakly.

"Yes. Now, steel yourself," he warned before he walked to confront Severus.

///

Albus ignored the two women as he walked from Hermione's room, and focused soley on Snape.

"I believe we have the truth of this matter now, don't we, Severus?" The Headmaster's words were spoken with a sense of menace suddenly. "Striding through these halls without any sense of shame? As if you were untouchable. I hadn't wanted to believe the rumors, Severus. My trust in you kept me blind. Blind to the depths to which you would sink."

Poppy's head snapped to Snape in disbelief. The older woman obviously willing all of this to be untrue.

Minerva said the words Poppy wished she'd had the guts to.

"What is he talking about, Severus? Tell him you haven't done anything untoward."

But there was no denial on Severus' face. Instead, the half a smile that played there was confident and near obscene.

"Perhaps, sooner or later, we all tire of being what the great Albus Dumbledore wants us to be," Severus said in his slickest tones. "Those people you task and pretend to care about, Albus, does it surprise you that they would find each other? That they would decide to do what is best for _**themselves**_ rather than serve you blindly?" Minerva felt a chill run through her. She was sure the words were heart felt, even if the scene was manufactured.

"Get him out of here, Minerva," Albus said fiercely. "After what he has done, I will not look on him another moment. Escort him to his quarters and see that he packs. He has 10 minutes to be clear of the castle!"

"Albus?" Poppy finally said in shock.

"Poppy, that man has deceived us. Miss Granger has admitted to the affair. It was this man who seduced her. Who fathered her child."

"Tell him it isn't true, Severus," the Matron insisted.

"For pity's sake," Severus spat at Madam Pomfrey, "release me from your expectations, Old Woman. How many years was I supposed to stay that horrid little boy in your mind? The one who had to wait patiently for scraps. Abused and forgotten..."

"Not by me... " Poppy protested, her faith refusing to fail.

"He admits it, Poppy," Albus said then.

"I admit it?!" Severus bellowed. "I sing it from the rafters, you pathetic, impotent old man."

"I want you out of this castle. I do not want to _**ever**_ see you again," Dumbledore said strongly.

"You think you can force me from here?" Severus mocked. "Don't you know why I've stayed? Why I've put up with you and the rest of the insipid people in this castle? To hold the door when HE comes. So, go," Snape said, as he took two menacing steps toward the old wizard. "Hide in your office. It will take more than you to push me out of here."

"Minerva," Albus said, as he calmly drew his wand with his good hand and held it on Severus. "Get Flitwick, get any _**loyal**_ staff you can. Now."

"I'm not leaving you," Minerva said as she drew her wand and cast her Patronus. A ghostly tabby trio burst for the door. She pointed her wand at the tall wizard now, too.

Poppy drew the door to Hermione's room closed behind her. And inched closer to the action. Her hesitant gait spoke to her obvious confusion and the betrayal she felt. Making her decision, suddenly, all that changed. She moved cautiously now to flank Severus, to stand so that his attentions would have to be divided. And she brandished her wand.

"Get out of here, Severus. I'll take little pleasure in hurting you, but I will do it," Madam Pomfrey told him firmly.

"Then I take the girl with me," he announced.

"Like hell," Poppy said moving to block his path to Hermione's room. "If she stays loyal to you, she'll find you when she's well."

A rush of footsteps in the outside corridor broke the tense silence. This was his moment to decide. He spared the door to Hermione's room one more look before he took two large steps for the window. He pushed it open and then looked back. "Soon old man. He has promised me .... soon." And with fluid motions, Severus was out the window and gone.

The following day, Minerva came into the small treatment room and pulled the door shut behind her. "Hermione," the tall witch whispered.

"It's alright. I wasn't sleeping," the younger woman lied, as she tried to push up a little higher on her pillows.

"I wanted to see how you were doing. And I needed to see how much of all this you understand." Hermione was sure McGonagall's tone sounded guilty.

"Professor Snape has been forced out of the castle at wand point. And I am going to guess that the reason Madam Pomfrey will not let me see a copy of the Daily Prophet is because news of my relationship with the professor is all over the front page."

"The news has been quite sensationalized, I'm afraid. Not that the simple truth of it wouldn't have been bad enough."

"Just tell me," Hermione pleaded.

"Obviously, the idea that a professor at Hogwarts would...." the old witch stopped, unable to say the phrase 'bed a student.' And they both knew it didn't really need saying. "Well," Minerva managed after a dignified pause. "It should be sufficient to say that Severus is being vilified. The papers are making you out to be a traitor."

"That's all? Not 'Whore to a Death Eater'?"

"Hermione! Please mind your language," the prim old witch fumed. "But yes," she finally said. "Anything you could possibly think, and some I would not, and they have printed it. Some even claim that you are responsible for tempting _him_ back to the dark forces. That it was in your nature all along to side with Voldemort." Minerva shook her head with sadness and disbelief.

"I can't stay here."

"But you will until you are well. Poppy says you need many more days of rest."

"I can rest just as well somewhere else," Hermione said as strongly as she could. "I can barely stand the way Madam Pomfrey looks at me."

"Tomorrow night then, after curfew," Minerva conceded after a lengthy pause. "I'll take you to Hogsmeade myself."

"Thank you," Hermione told her with relief. She watched the old witch walk for the door and she could not stop herself from calling out. "Please, Professor. What's happened to Severus?"

"We don't know," Minerva said with her head held uncharacteristically low. "No one has seen him or heard from him."


	46. Chapter 46

_A/N: It's all about perception and reality. Reality can be all right. :)_

_

* * *

  
_

Hermione was back in her room above the goat pens. It was freshly scrubbed, she noticed. And there were a few extra comforts now. Aberforth, she guessed, must have been up here to add them. The wizard felt bad that she had gotten so sick on what he likely considered his watch.

Minerva had gone to the lengths of walking her up the stairs and tucking her into the bed after their carriage ride from the school grounds. And it was ridiculous, Hermione felt, that she had to come down with pneumonia to interact with her old professor. They talked about Crookshanks, about her adventures among the Muggles in America, about the friends she had left behind at Hogwarts and the lengths they were going to to prepare.

"I miss my mum at times like these." With McGonagall perched in unlikely fashion on the edge of her bed, it did not seem an odd connection for Hermione to make.

"I don't blame you," the old witch said. She could see that Hermione's admission had cost her some pride. The younger witch had chewed at her lip a touch before she had made it. "Have we asked too much of you?" Minerva asked then, echoing the words the Headmaster had used in the infirmary's treatment room.

Before, when she was younger ... And to Hermione now, that word meant more about how tested you've been, rather than a certain measure of years. Well, before, Hermione would have just blurted out a, "No, it hasn't been too much," to reassure the older woman. But her recent past had changed her. A lot had been required of her and the full toll of it would likely go on for years. She was willing to be honest about that with herself … and with McGonagall.

"I'm all right so far. That surprises me somewhat, if I think about everything I've been through since the beginning of this school."

"You're a tough woman," Minerva said with a smile.

"But I know we are no where near through. And that even when the war ends, I will never be able to put it all behind me. Because..."

"Because having a baby is rather more permanent."

"Yes."

"If you want to give up the baby, I could help find a family," Minerva said as gently as she could.

"If I did that, it would be because he would be better off without me, not because I thought I was better off without him..."

"I know," and Minerva knew then as she watched the girl wrestle with another tough decision in her relatively brief life, that Albus _**had**_ asked much too much of her. Had asked more than he had had a right to ask of anyone.

///

"You seem better," Severus told her as he came across her threshold.

"You base this on the fact that I am standing up and forming words? How astute," she teased. "Yes, and I'm not contagious. Just exhausted." She was angling for affection he knew and so, he ran his hand over her cheek and then kissed her.

"Ah, if the world only knew how chaste we really are," she said with manufactured disappointment and a quirky smile.

It eased his mind that she was obviously not sitting up here in this loft obsessing over what the press was saying about them. He felt his own mood change at seeing the strength in her. Her resilience was perhaps the most beautiful part of her.

But there was that immediate delectable high he got from the way she bantered with him. Pushed at him. And then smiled. It was a drug he returned for again and again.

"Let me continue to impress you with how astute I am then," he said with a knowing smile. "You would still be at Hogwarts, nestled safe in Madam Pomfrey's bosom, if that woman had not made your stay silently unbearable."

"Oh, points to you, Professor," she said as she gave him a lingering kiss on the cheek. Hermione needed to sit down though, so she tugged on his sleeve as she spoke ,and urged him to sit with her on her bed. "Poppy is very caring..."

"But," Severus provoked with a smirk.

"She radiated pity. Oh, and sometimes, scorn. She really could not make up her mind, I felt, how much she blamed me for this situation and how much she blamed you."

"And because she always sides with the underdog, she was probably beside herself with having to see either of us as the guilty party."

"Yes."

"So," he said as he guided her to stretch out on her side facing away from him. "It was another mercy on the part of the sainted Hermione Granger that you removed yourself from her care."

Severus began to rub that spot on her lower back that his hand seemed made to ease. The witch sighed with relief, relaxed, but then told him, "Ha! 'Sainted' my ass. It was self-preservation. And the knowledge that if I ever hoped to get another back rub, I would have to get back here."

He was snared, pitifully snared, he knew. Just the lilt to her voice as she joked with him had him getting worked up. That and the sight of her bum moving inches from his thighs. _Of course_, he thought,_ there was the way she was groaning with pleasure as he rubbed the sore muscles in her back a little harder. _

"It's been a week," she told him, reading his mind.

He moaned as he gave up on restraint and pressed himself against her bottom. "Oh, it's been more than a week."

"I meant since Madam Pomfrey treated me for pneumonia." She was smiling now with the suspicion that her lover was developing a fledgling sense of humor.

He pulled away from her and held her hip so she could not wiggle back and find him out. "You had to mention Poppy? Do you know that the mention of that witch eliminates my libido?"

Slowly, she rolled over to him. It was much more of a process now with the increased size of her stomach. Neither of them said anything while she worked to propel herself over. But what caught her by surprise was the way he helped. The hand that had rested at her hip skimmed across her belly, joining one of hers there, as if to support her and ease the strain of moving. Settled now, she was afraid to do a thing, afraid to draw attention to the hand that still rested there.

"Sleep," he whispered then. "You need sleep."

"Not if you'll leave before I wake up, Severus. Please..."

"I'll stay an hour or two. I'll wake you long enough to say goodbye."

She felt the warmth of his hand still on her abdomen. And in that dreamy state as she waited to drift off, she imagined that Gundi would know whose hand that was inches from him. She imagined the boy would gravitate to it, press himself against it. And that Severus would know that this was profound. That this was the physical embodiment of hope and future and love.

###

She was disappointed when she woke up to find that he was not next to her. But she heard his voice then offering her something to drink.

"How long did I sleep?" she asked as she reached for the glass of water he held.

"Three hours." He took the glass back now and placed it on the bedside table for her. "I got up so that you could sleep better."

"I slept well, I feel good," she told him with a smile.

"The boy didn't sleep a bit, I can tell you." It seemed a light hearted thing to say, but he kept his face stern with the inexperience of talking about the baby.

"Ah, HE kicked you out of bed," Hermione joked.

Severus was looking at his palm, the one that had rested against her belly. "He is much more active now. And bigger. It wasn't flutters I felt."

"No, he really pushes against you, doesn't he?"

But Severus would not have described it as a push. Not that he was capable of using words then to describe the occurrence at all. But it was more like the boy had nudged up against him, grazed against his palm from time to time.

_Like an active child who needs to return to brush against his parent for reassurance in between forays in to the world._

He believed he was likely sleep deprived or suffering some sort of low blood sugar moment that he would be capable of such a thought.

"I've put together a small meal for you. And then you are due for your afternoon potion, I see. Is there anything else you need then before I go back to Malfoy Manor? Aberforth can..."

"I would really like some help in the shower," she told him. He was silent a long time. He scrutinized her and saw she seemed quite serious. "Or did you want Aberforth to help with that one?" she asked with an embarrassed sort of look.

He manufactured a shudder. "I will spare him that. One sight of your bare pregnant belly and Aberforth would be hopeless. If he isn't already. He is a very soft hearted sort with pregnant females. Humans even," Severus joked as he took her hand and helped her stand. "How have you managed then before.. or is this a ploy?"

She was leaning into him now and pulling off his coat. "I confess. It is part ploy." She groaned and wiggled against him a bit as she tugged his shirt loose from his trousers. "The help I had before was Madam Hooch. Minerva sent her one day."

"That.... had to be interesting."

"I haven't seen her in so long. And, of course, I did keep thinking about the time you were polyjuiced as her ... and I kissed you."

"So, she helped you in the shower?" Severus asked, with a strange lilt to his voice.

"Tell me you are not turning this into a fantasy thing. The truth will disappoint," she said as she ran her hands over his back. "Madam Hooch configured a chair that would work in the shower. And handed me a towel when I was done. She walked me back in here and helped me get some clean pajamas on."

"Well, I can manage that," Severus said flatly.

"I remember a certain shower with you. And it was lovely. I was hoping for something more along those lines," she said griping his shirt tightly.

"Any shower today is about getting you safely clean and returning you to bed," he insisted.

She ran her hand over the front of his trousers. "I am betting we can multitask," she told him impishly.

He sidestepped her touch, but kissed her softly. She wanted to complain, he knew. So, he shushed her and answered her with hands that were glad to be reacquainted with her. Slow touches to her arms told her he would make up his mind in his time.

As he kissed and touched her, the decision became more about how much he had missed feeling desired. So minutes later, they still lingered there in the middle of her room. They let the excitement of the clothed touches build, as if they were chaperoned innocents under some enforced restraint.

"Please, Severus," she whispered finally. "I won't let you wear me out."

He stopped, seeming to weigh the situation. "A cautious shower then? But I will do more than merely hand you a towel," he said huskily. His feet worked in the direction of the bathroom door while his hands worked the long line of buttons down his chest.

With a laugh pressed to his lips, she let herself be carried along. To her over active brain their actions seemed a delightfully bumbling waltz, one that divested them of their clothing.

###

He smiled wickedly as he pulled the blankets around her. He knew if she fell asleep like that - her hair damp and not yet brushed out - that she would wake up with a mass of frizzy curls that infuriated her.

///

When Arthur got to the Muggle police station to bail out his son and Harry, it was the smell that hit him first. Before the vision of Ron and his friend was even clear in front him, Arthur knew they were drunk. Beyond drunk. The boys reeked of sweat and vomit, booze and muck.

"Oh, for Christ's sake," Bill said quietly. He looked over to Fleur thinking the young woman would want to absent herself at this point. But she looked undaunted.

Harry stood with his head resting on the station's high desk. Bill stood next to him, holding Ron up with a hand to the back of his shirt. Arthur was left to sign the papers under Fleur's direction.

There was an advantage to having his future daughter-in-law along, Arthur realized. All these Muggles where exceptionally willing to explain the process to them.... twice. And with a smile.

The group was in a park a short distance from the police station now, waiting for Arthur to decide what to do.

"I can't take him home like this," Arthur fumed to Bill. "Your mother is going to kill me. Kill him." Arthur turned back to his youngest son. "Ron, snap out of it." As if on cue then, the boy started to cry harder.

Ron still gripped the tattered remains of the Daily Prophet They all knew what it said. Or what it HAD said before Ron or Harry had ripped it to shreds.

_'Bed Mates? Play Mates? Hogwarts LITERALLY becomes the Dark Wizard's Breeding Ground.' _

Pictures of Snape and Hermione had been charmed then to wink at the viewer.

"We were out there, freezing our asses off, night after night," Harry complained from his spot on the park bench.

"While Snape was doing _**Hermione's**_ ass night..." Ron's rejoinder was cut off when Bill wordlessly heaved him off the bench and dropped him on the ground.

Apparently, this had been the topic of conversation with the two young Wizards for the last several hours and 20 drinks, because they had it down to a rapid fire, ribald tennis match back and forth.

"Fuck bunnies," Harry said, seeming not to notice that his bench mate was on the ground now.

Arthur felt ill hearing the words (as non sensical as they were) and taking a page from Bill's book, he grabbed Harry by the shoulder and shook him – hard.

Ron had struggled to stand and was now gripping the back of the park bench, his eagerness to reply to Harry making it hard for him to remain upright. "Yeah, we are out there freezing our dicks off and she was sucking Snape's..."

Arthur had never seen anyone so violently Scourgified. Even Fleur who had remained incredibly unflappable through out the evening gasped audibly as the force of Bill's spell hit his younger brother.

The younger Weasley was knocked onto his butt with a whimper. Ron rolled into a ball then and the whimpering turned to a torrent of crying.

Harry stood up as if pulled by a marionette's strings and propelled himself further into the park. The mystery of why was quickly answered when they heard him retching. No one felt the need to follow him. There was a limit, tonight, on how much they were willing to put up with.

Arthur pinched his brow, obviously finally at the end of his parenting rope. Bill threw up his hands and stomped off.

"Mr. Weasley," Fleur said gently.

"Arthur," the man answered perfunctorily, still bent over and still pinching violently at his forehead.

"Arthur. Dad," she threw in for good measure. "Zeese is a very difficult time for you. Please. Let me help Ronald. It will be quick little talk. I clean him up and sober him up very gently and then we march home to Mrs Weasley."

"Molly," Arthur corrected weakly.

"Molly, but, of course. So, go after Bill. A minute is all. Ronald just needs a woman's touch."

"Alright," Arthur said with a tired sigh.

Frankly, the man was so strung out, that Madam Hooch could have stood there and said, "Ronald just needs a good smack in the head with a Bludger or three," and Arthur would have nodded and walked away.

And so, with long strides he headed off after Bill.

It was Fleur's turn to sigh then. She crouched down next to Ron and cleared her throat.

Ron's eyes managed to roll in such a way that he very nearly focused on her. "She left me for Snape. She's been.... fu—f--- f—" suddenly inches from the likes of Fleur he could not say the word.

"Fucking," Fleur supplied helpfully.

"Snape!" Ron cried. "Fucking Snape! Fucking... "

"We all know that Ronald. It iz public knowledge now. Old news."

"Tell me she is under the Imperious! Tell me he's drugged her."

"What if I told you, Ronald, that Hermione was enjoying zee sex of her life? Hmm? Zis professor of yours seems very .... meticulous. It is likely he is extremely skilled at love making. Patient and..."

"Why are you tormenting me?" he blubbered, as he pawed at his swollen eyes.

She smiled then. "I'm not. I am telling you simple facts. While _**you**_ are reacting like an emotional child who thinks zeese is all about him."

"That bastard Snape betrayed us," Ron said looking for common ground. "He seduced her. Lured Hermione away. And we needed her. Doesn't anyone care?"

"Yes. But, not enough to roll in vomit. Nor enough to urinate on our trousers. Tactically, this is a loss for our side..."

"Tactically, she is fucking Snape," Ron strung together in a giant slur. "My girlfriend is fucking and..."

With no warning, Fleur's palm connected with Ron's cheek. The young Wizard found his face in the dirt only briefly because Fleur was immediately pulling him back up again by the back of his collar.

"Whose side are you on?" Fleur asked almost politely.

"What?!" he said sounding slightly more sober.

"We've had two people defect from zee Order. Don't say their names. I am so sick of hearing their names tonight," she warned giving him a shake. "And now two more Order members, you and Harry, are disgustingly drunk and in the hands of the Muggle authorities. And your parents? And Bill?" she asked giving him another firm shake. "They have had to stop everything because of zeese childish escapade. They are sure you are incapable of managing yourself. You have done as much damage to the Order as any Wizard today. So, forget her. And grow up."

Arthur and Bill returned down the walk supporting Harry between them. They seemed surprised to see Ron on his feet, albeit gripping the park bench tightly.

"Enough of this idiocy. Let's go home, Dad." Ron said with a wince.

"What did you say to him, Fleur?" Bill whispered.

"Oh, nothing. He simply needed a woman's point of view. I was afraid it might get lost in translation.... but ...he seems to understand."

///


	47. Chapter 47

**A/N: Thank you Sel for the read and the help. **

/

Days later the furor in the press and in the Wizarding community still had not died down.

Lucius Malfoy put aside the newspaper with a haughty chuckle and stood from his chair in his parlor. "I would get another press agent, Severus."

"I am not as worried about appearances as you, perhaps," Snape said, trying to make the comment seem light.

"You must not have very much experience with these dalliances. Every Wizarding newspaper in the country, and 2 from the continent have run this story," Lucius teased. "I can't imagine there is a single detail of your little play times that has escaped them."

"And you with such a good imagination in cases like this," Severus said drolly.

Severus could see his time spent among the Death Eaters at Lucius' mansion was going to have more than the usual problems. He preferred to draw no more than the necessary attention to himself so that he could come and go as he needed.

So, it would do no good to antagonize Lucius further, he decided. He made a play of walking uncertainly for the liquor in the corner. He poured himself a drink and then looked over the rim of it at Malfoy.

Severus manufactured a sigh for the man he was pretending to be friendly with. "You know the papers are ... unfortunately... making the whole association seem much more exciting than it is. I would not be lying if I told you it was all far more work than you can imagine."

"Yes," Malfoy said, with renewed interest. "A tactical seduction. Exciting at first, perhaps, and then... rote?"

"Oh, I would not call _**anything**_ with Granger 'rote,'" Severus said slyly. "But she is just a girl, really. And so damnably pregnant now..."

"You know I do think you are developing a sense of humor, Severus."

There was a quick knock at the door then before Draco let himself into the room.

With a raised eyebrow, Severus noted that the young wizard had somehow sneaked out of the castle for the evening. And that this did not surprise his father in the slightest.

"Father, it's tonight." The look on Draco's face was nervous, but distinctly proud.

"You'd best go wait with the other faithful, Severus. We have something important to attend to," Lucius informed him with a sickening smile.

Severus moved slowly for the door. But his languid movements were in complete contradiction with the race of thoughts he was registering. He would have to think quickly, he realized, if he was to have any influence on the outcome of tonight's events. But his dealings would need to be nuanced as well.

/

He walked with his head down to approach the Dark Lord. He sank to one knee then.

"What is it, Severus? What wouldn't wait," Voldemort demanded roughly.

Severus clenched and unclenched his fists in a display of barely contained emotion. "The group that is leaving for the castle... is there a place among them for me?" The potion master used a voice designed to show a coarse desire.

"This job belongs to the Malfoys. Draco needs this test. I am not allowing Lucius to interfere. He will remain here."

"But, My Lord, if Draco should fail?" Severus said in a pleading voice, bowing lower. "We have waited so long for this."

"I know what you are thinking, Severus. I have made allowances for that. Draco has whatever help his fellow Slytherians will lend him. And there will be Death Eaters waiting to finish things if Draco cannot. The senior Crabbe and Goyle."

"Friends of Lucius'..." Severus said, floating the words out there meaningfully.

"You think they would cover up for Draco if he bungles this?" Voldemort asked as he began to stalk across the room.

"I could..."

"You will not allow yourself to be seen unless you need to involve yourself. You will be there as my eyes and ears. Draco plans to lure the old man to the Astronomy Tower. And Crabbe and Goyle will be at the bottom to ensure no one is able to come to Dumbledore's aid."

"Thank you, My Lord," a grateful sounding Snape replied. "I will not fail you."

/

The younger Malfoy had sent Albus a note asking him to come here tonight. Hinting that he had information on Voldemort and that he wanted help getting away from his life as a Death Eater. Whether the old wizard had misgivings or not, they both knew, he would not refuse the meeting.

"Draco," Albus called out, once he had reached the top of the Astronomy Tower. His voice was raspy and taxed by the climb.

Draco walked from the shadows as confidently as he could manage. He needed to kill the Headmaster, but also on his mind was that his two friends were watching from behind him. The young wizard pulled his wand and the Headmaster stopped in front of the pillars that ringed the tower's top floor.

"Stop, Draco," Albus ordered, rather pleaded. "You don't need to do this. You do not need to kill me."

"Afraid to die, old man?" Draco taunted with a quick look over his shoulder to collect the approval of his housemates, Goyle and Crabbe.

"I am afraid for your soul, son."

Dumbledore's form of address incensed Draco. The boy's face registered his disgust as his wand jerked back in preparation. With a yell of pure hatred, he fired three curses at Albus. It was only reflexively that the old man was able to defend himself. From him sprung fluid wand movements that should have belonged to a younger wizard.

The force of the combined spells took its toll on the ancient tower as well as the two wizards. Bits of plaster and rock pelted down now even after the noise from the exchange had subsided. Malfoy found himself on his knees, his eyes were pinched with the fierce disorientation that gripped him. He felt ill then to hear the Headmaster's ragged voice, to hear the man call his name, all before Draco had managed to look up or get to his feet.

As Draco pushed himself up, he realized his wand had burst from his hand and must have flown from the tower in the exchange. His stomach dropped out as he registered how close he was to completely bungling his task.

"Are you all right?" Vincent called out in a boy's frightened voice. To Draco it was entirely too belittling to be asked such a thing, suddenly.

Fury and embarrassment made Draco's blood pound all the harder in his ears now. He screamed and flew at the old man.

Dumbledore had been knocked to his knees with the effort of repelling Draco's spells and was struggling feebly to regain his feet as Draco came at him. Albus reached out for a purchase. Flailing, he grabbed hold of the boy's belt.

Draco was enraged with himself and with the pace of this fight. He was, beyond everything else, desperately frightened of failure. The demons in his brain willed the man dead and this encounter behind him.

Frantically, the young wizard pressed the man back toward the tower's edge.

He had been denied the easy, distanced, and sanitized killing he had wanted the wand to provide. And with his hands on the old man now, and Dumbledore's gasps in his ear, Draco was fast losing his stomach for this.

The only remedy was to finish him as quickly as possible. To get the man's hands off him, get the man's voice out of his head. Draco pushed the Headmaster harder, forcing him toward the hole their duel had blown in the tower's supports and railings.

But the over sized Death Eater robes his father had given him weighed the young wizard down, tripped him. And the pieces of the tower seemed to conspire against him. Snagging him, hindering him. He called out to Crabbe and Goyle for help. The pair at the edge was hit then with such a force from the two newcomers that they were pushed to the edge. In this deal only so much as their own safety allowed, Crabbe and Goyle recovered themselves and backed away.

As the edge began to crumble, Dumbledore's mind flew to the idea of saving the boy. Obstinate and blind even now, Draco fought the pushes that sought to safeguard him. Too late, he felt what Dumbledore had.

The unweighting of the edge.

###  
Minerva had been standing at her window, imagining she could see that spot that Alastair had left from. Imagining he was returning to her finally from the hospital where he was recovering in secret.

She saw a single flash of light that drew her eyes to the Astronomy Tower then. In the next moment, there were three more flashes. She cursed and ran for her door, sending her Patronus to Flitwick, Hooch, and the other trusted faculty as she went.

/  
The Death Eaters waited together as instructed in the over sized dining room of Malfoy Manor.. There was tension knowing tonight would bring them either the victory their Lord so desperately wanted, or a failure that would unleash the dark wizard's wrath. Crabbe, Senior entered with an unsteady step. His mask off, his face gray. At the sight of him, Bella walked wordlessly into the next room to rouse her Lord. As the others realized that Crabbe was ready to report, they pushed closer, anticipation and blood lust making them physically agitated.

"What news, Crabbe?" Voldemort called out as he stood now on his improvised dais. "Is Dumbledore dead?"

The silence hung there, each person in the room aware that history was waiting to declare them victors or fools.

"He is, My Lord. Dumbledore is dead."

And the screams of relief and joy were unrestrained. Those who did not reach for their own flasks, reached for their friends'.

"Where is Goyle?"

"He was injured. I left him with his wife."

"What of the boys?" Lucius called out, when the swell of men prevented him from physically getting to Crabbe.

The look on Crabbe's face telegraphed how little he wanted to say another word. "Greg and Vincent survive. Draco... Draco fell from the tower."

Lucius' face paled and he stumbled a touch then as if in a slow, disjointed waltz. Someone showed him the courtesy of steering him to the wall where he held on with both hands and breathed hard.

"And?" the Dark Lord thundered.

"McGonagall. Flitwick. Even that nursemaid from the infirmary... showed up. Then Snape came out of nowhere," Crabbe said.

"You are complaining," the Dark Lord said mockingly, "because Severus drew attention to you by engaging Dumbledore's lackeys and that made it impossible for you to run off unnoticed."

"No. We fought too.

Voldemort came off his dais in his impatience, "And where is Severus now?"

"We... lost sight of him … after Flitwick blasted him."

"Lost sight of him? Because you ran off and left him?" Voldemort accused.

"Never, My Lord," Crabbe objected in a frightened voice. "We merely became separated... in the fight. He helped us keep the others from climbing the tower And..." everyone could see this next admission pained him. "He denied me the pleasure of killing McGonagall."

"She is dead?" Voldemort said, stopping his pacing. His tone telling everyone that the prospect was entirely too delicious.

"I- I can't be sure, My Lord. But the old bird looked the worst I've ever seen her," Cautiously, people laughed at that bold joke.

/

Severus knelt on one knee and gingerly assessed the damage done to him. His ribs ached, his head was reeling, and his hand came away bloody when he gingerly touched the back of his head. Filius had blasted him into the wall of the Astronomy Tower. If Flitwick had been any quicker in getting to the fray, or if Severus had not been wearing the thin armor, Severus knew, he would be a good deal worse off.

The Charms professor had only managed two shots at him. The first one propelled him into the wall and the second had caught him while he was running in the dark for the wood line. It had felled him, but everyone who had responded to the alarm had been too concerned with the injured near the tower to chase after him and check the damage done to him. A traitor.

God, his chest ached. His breath came out like a stutter. But, it wasn't the injuries, he knew. It was the wrenching reality that Dumbledore was really dead. And that Draco had managed to get himself killed in the process.

And God help him, he had had to stun Minerva to keep Crabbe from killing her. Did he now have that woman's death on his hands, he wondered.

He dragged himself to his feet and realized he should report back to the Dark Lord... but that he wouldn't. Not yet.

/

Was it guilt? Obligation? The need to provide some comfort. Or to find some, perhaps? Severus didn't know. He didn't, couldn't, stop moving long enough to analyze it, beyond knowing that part of him admitted he didn't want to be alone if he didn't have to.

She would take him in.

And he owed her this. That she hear it all from him.

###

"Hermione?" he said into the darkness.

"I'm here," she said tiredly. Her exhaustion made her movements sluggish and imprecise. He waited as patiently as he could for her to grasp her wand and spell a single light on.

She was sitting up in her bed now. As he walked to her, she rubbed at her eyes. She looked up at him and smiled faintly.

"Hermione..." he said in low voice. He knelt at the side of the bed so that he could place his hands on her arms now. He gave her arms a firm squeeze, but said nothing more.

"Severus, please, you are scaring me." She looked at him, finally seeing the altered state of him, the trace of blood on his hand and the mud on his clothes. "Oh, God. You're hurt! What happened?"

"Death Eaters attacked the Headmaster. He's dead, Hermione. Albus is dead."

"No!" she choked out. "Severus. They couldn't. Not at Hogwarts. How could they get to him?"

"It was Draco," he said levelly. "He had Crabbe and Goyle with him. They lured Albus to the Astronomy Tower."

Hermione was shaking her head, unable to believe that a fellow student had done this. Severus gave her no time to reply. He had to get it out, all of it. "Others were wounded," he told her. "I can't be sure how badly. Minerva..." He shook off the indecision and self-pity that had stalled him. "I stunned Minerva."

She pulled her arms away from him and pushed herself further back on the bed.

"Do you think I didn't warn them?" Severus demanded with frustration. "Do you think I just sat back and allowed this to happen? That I was just there to watch him die? Do you believe I wanted to stun Minerva? Protecting her was the last charge Albus left me. I was to protect her rather than him. The damnable woman flew at Crabbe and Goyle. They would have killed her."

She let out a heaving sob and willed herself to stop. But it didn't work. "I'm sorry, Severus. I'm sorry. I know you did everything you could. I just wish..." She shook her head to end the unreasonableness of the thought.

She came closer to him again and raised a hand to touch him. They sat in silence like that until her senses began to clear from the shock. "Where is Draco now? Being celebrated?" she spat.

Severus raised a hand to her shoulder, worried about what a further shock may do to her. And he told her levelly, "Draco's dead. He fell from the tower with the Headmaster."

She lowered her head but didn't cry. "Why would he do it? Why would he want to kill Albus?"

"He was darker than anyone realized. And desperate to prove himself."

"What are we going to do now? How are we going to manage without Professor Dumbledore?"  
Will Minerva be able to handle the school and the Order... Is she even going to be all right?"

"Slow down, Hermione," he urged her. He stroked her hair and his tone changed as if he was telling her a bedtime story. "I stunned Minerva when Crabbe was ready to fire on her. Flitwick showed up then. Crabbe and Goyle might have taken him on, but Hooch rounded the corner just then, and they quickly saw they had gotten themselves stuck out in the open. They began backing off for the Apparition point. I was checking on Minerva when Filius finally saw me." Severus allowed himself a small smile then.

"What happened then," Hermione begged.

"Minerva couldn't move, but she told me to run," he said with an odd lilt to his voice. "Her exact words being, 'Run, you idiot bastard.'"

"She'll be all right then," Hermione told him with manufactured surety. "I believe it, Severus. Now, let me help you." She raised a hand to his cheek, rubbed at the sprinkling of mud there.

"I'm fine," he said solemnly.

"Please. Let me see what damage Flitwick did to you. Give me something to focus on besides..." There was a touch of anguish rising in her voice.

His head dropped in silent acquiescence.

"Do you need to leave?" she asked softly as she touched his hair. She leaned in and laid a gentle kiss to his forehead while she waited for the answer.

He moved forward, haltingly bringing himself closer to her. His hand snaked into the neck of her night gown to find the tangible comfort of warm skin. And his head came to rest on her shoulder as if he was physically undone suddenly.

"What's left?" she heard him say. She felt the faint shake of his head. Felt his disbelief or despair.

"Us," she told him.

He yielded to her tugs then and climbed into the bed.

/


	48. Chapter 48

_**a/n: thanks for the reviews. I know I have not managed to write and thank some of you, and I apologize. I have lost whole chunks of my brain to my new schedule. I am in class now (yes, at my age) and I have almost no time left for this story. And I am embarrassed to admit that I cannot keep track of those I have written to. I will get myself more organized, I hope. And in the mean time, this story will have to magically write itself on weekends in those moments when the kids are not clamoring for attention or food.**_

_**Part of this makes a quick but important aside to Minerva's past. That chapter (it was number 24) was written a long time ago, so I thought I should mention it. God knows this story is taking forever to write. Poor Hermione has been pregnant over a year.**_

///

It was not quite 6 in the morning when the gentle knock came to Hermione's door. Severus roused first, carefully extracting himself from Hermione's sleeping grasp.

He knew that knock. And he dreaded the scene to come. It would be Aberforth. And there would be grief and regret standing on the door step. Severus was one of the few who knew that Albus had been the innkeeper's brother. Was one of the few who knew that some bad business had separated the men years ago.

"Who told you?" Severus asked, seeing the man clearly knew about his brother's death.

"Hooch came through. She woke some of us up to let us know that Death Eaters had gotten in... had killed Albus. And that they might be anywhere, in town even."

"They'll be back at Malfoys," Severus said.

"I don't care where they are. I'm too old to chase them down myself. Besides, I heard that the one who killed Albus is dead himself. And just a boy. Lucius Malfoy's boy?"

"That's right."

Hermione got up in the shadows behind them. Having only heard whispers of their conversation, she asked,"What is it, Aberforth?"

"Just an old man's regrets... I brought a bottle," he said then to Severus. "I know it's early. Maybe it's late?" he said sounding weak and lost. "But I need to sit a spell, just a short while with people who understand." He raised his eyes to Hermione then as she approached the table. "Albus Dumbledore was my brother. But we were not on speaking terms," he told her with difficulty.

She was able to turn her brain off then, to not wonder at this new information. What mattered now, Hermione knew, was just the man who stood there. So, she walked to his side. Wordlessly, she relieved him of the bottle and handed it to Severus. She took Aberforth by the arms then and guided him into a chair. "I'm so sorry," she told him, as she sat down beside him.

"How's the boy?" he asked wistfully.

"Good." And she took up his hand, not knowing what else to do. "Do you want to feel him move?" she asked as she pulled his hand to her belly. Aberforth just nodded sadly and let the girl hold his hand there.

"If I was you, boy, I wouldn't come out," Aberforth said in response to the kick he felt.

Severus pushed a drink across the table to Aberforth and then filled the glass in front of himself. The younger wizard raised his drink tentatively, not knowing what sort of toast might be right.

"To Albus, then," Aberforth said softly. "His fight is behind him finally. And to the boy," he whispered with a pat to Hermione's stomach. "May there be no fighting for him. I'll work to make it so."

///

Filius Flitwick, an incredibly capable wizard who had avoided positions of conspicuous importance as a rule – who had come to Hogwart's to hide away when he had stopped liking the man he had become - found himself in charge of planning Albus Dumbledore's funeral. In fact, he found himself running Hogwarts while he waited for his old friend Minerva to recover from the stunning she had received.

The first step in facing the new responsibilities was to sit at a sleeping Minerva McGonagall's bedside in the school infirmary. It was the middle of the night. His first day of managing the duties fate had handed him was behind him. Unable to sleep, he had ended up here with a glass in hand and a bottle balanced on his knee. Just 24 hours earlier, he thought with a look at his watch, life had been so very, very different.

"Min," the wee man said sounding wistful and a tad tipsy, "you've buggered me for sure. What am I supposed to do? I really cannot believe that you and Albus would conspire against me like this." He paused. Sighed. And he could see his attempt at humor had done nothing to rouse the unconscious Headmistress. If she even knew she was the headmistress now.

_She knew_, he reminded himself. There had been those long painful minutes of lucidity when he and Poppy had told Minerva the bitter truth. Death Eaters at Hogwarts. Students helping them. The Headmaster dead. Severus there, acting with the dark forces.

With that sad thought, the wizard downed another mouthful of brandy and heaved his heaviest sigh yet.

###

He had had a grueling, painful first day as the Acting Headmaster.

He remembered how Minerva had gripped his hand as tightly as her weakened state would allow that morning in the infirmary.

She had told him to get the recent staff additions, those appointed by the tainted board, out of the castle.

"_Umbridge. __The Carrows," she rasped at him. "And **anyone** you doubt. Get them out. Secure the castle."_

_But he, Hooch and Pomona had already managed that with the help of the surprisingly quick-thinking Longbottom and Finnigan. The houses were under lock down. Everyone was under a heightened guard. And the Carrows and Toad Umbridge had been efficiently stunned, drugged, trussed, and deposited, in the center of Hogsmeade within 2 hours of the headmaster's death._

_Filius had been seething through the whole process, moving with the intuition for battle that his anger and grief had dredged up. And he couldn't come back from that. He had stood there on the flag stones staring at the castle doors. The Carrows were long gone, and still he could not unclench his fists. Could not form a single passive thought. It had been Madam Sprout alone who had dared to approach him. She stood close beside him, but knew not to touch him. And she whispered then in a voice that seemed able to pull him in and wrap him up. "We stand down now, Filius. A bad business, well managed. We are done for now. Stand down." A single hand had stroked then from the small wizard's shoulder down to his wand hand, releasing the tension as it went. _

###

"Minerva. Sweet girl," Filius said lowly. "I really wish you were on your feet tonight, so I could hide behind your skirts a little longer. But you know the real problem, don't you." And wisely not waiting for an answer from the unresponsive woman, he launched into his confessional. "I didn't want to raise my wand against anyone. Not again. I liked retirement. I liked the shadow. The guise of being the erudite Head of Ravenclaw was lovely. Lovely. I could pretend to be an intellectual, untouched by all that... physicality. All that fighting. And, sweet Minerva, wrapping myself in your skirt was not a bad sort of way to go through life at all."

He toasted her then. And feeling the brandy loosen his tongue, he told her, "The view was lovely. But I am not here to laud your laudable backside. I'm here to let you know just how damnably fucked I am. Last night..." he said before he faltered. "Damn it to hell, Minerva. I fired at Severus. I saw someone's wand work from far off. And then I came upon him kneeling over you, his wand still in his hand, as if he was inspecting his handiwork and was ready to dispatch you. I'm not sorry I blasted him then. Just sorry he was there at all. So damn sorry I had to use my wand in anger again. But you know I wouldn't be here if there weren't more to it. If it wasn't worse... I thought Snape was unconscious. The way I hit him? The way he slammed into that tower? He shouldn't have gotten up. I left you to Poppy's care. Rolanda took off after the Death Eaters, those two students among them. And I started to circle the tower to make sure the area was secure." He paused then.

"God help me, Minerva, I should be a stronger Wizard. At my age? With everything else I have seen and done? Done, is the word, eh?" he said with a sense of realization. "I wanted to believe I was done here at Hogwarts. Retired. On the shelf. Behind your skirts. Just there in the shadows to give advice and act the sage. But when I saw them there. The two. Albus and that boy whose name I will never say. Lying dead together. Their bodies broken, lying in the mud. The flood gates opened in me." He groaned then at the disclosure to come. And poured another drink down his throat.

"I flew back around the tower, Minerva. Hot with wanting ... with wanting to _**hurt**_ someone. And Severus was on his feet somehow and moving. He was unsteady, although the man should have been dead or at least insensible. He was running for the forest, Minerva. His back to me. His _**back!**_ And I gave him no warning. Nothing." And here the small man stopped again to bow his head and wait for some composure. "I cursed him, Minerva. In the _**back**_. I hit him, too. Saw him tumble. And I just turned away. God help me, Minerva. I'm not everything I was before Albus brought me here. I'm not everything I feared I might be again. I'm _**worse**_. And you are not here to stand between me and the world."

He closed his eyes and he could hear Minerva's voice.

###

"_How are you settling in," the tall, all-too-knowing witch had asked Filius 30 years ago._

"_Fine. Fine. Just another broken mage recruited for oblivion in the Highlands."_

"_Well, that's good, Flitwick. Glad you aren't feeling sorry for yourself about being here."_

_She fixed him with that wilting stare that he soon found worked on grown wizards as well as it did on weak-kneed first years. He began to feel a bit sheepish then about the way he was acting. He had no business making comments that insinuated that the rest of the staff was as damaged as he was – even if he suspected that it was true. _

"_It is a rare chance," he admitted then. "I am glad Professor Dumbledore has asked me up here," he said, trying not to make the words sound grudging._

_A week later Minerva had walked with him out by the old stone wall. Flitwick asked himself if he was the first professor to wonder why the wall was there - when it seemed to mark a boundary between nothing and naught. _

_Where another witch might wear you down with pleas and petitions, he found McGonagall was doing it with her patient silence. "You know why I'm here?" he finally asked her._

"_You want to know if I heard what happened before you got here? Yes. I saw the papers. And I know a person or two on the continent. There was a fight in Prague - in the Wizarding section of the city. A girl was involved. And some young idiots who did not believe the old dueling champion could do to them what he promised he would."_

"_If they hadn't hurt the girl, I would have walked away," he told her in a voice filled with regret. "Do you know how many mindless young Wizards used to challenge me – wanting to best the old champion? You cannot even imagine how many times I just backed away. But that night._.._I __**wanted**__ to hurt him," he told her. His honesty surprised even him. And he waited now to see how she would respond._

"_You wanted to hurt him. But that is not the same thing as intending he actually die, Filius."_

"_But he is dead, Minerva. At my hand. Justifiably. Or accidentally or whatever the courts wanted to call it. The man is still dead. Because of me."_

"_And since **you** are not dead. Nor in jail, some might think you have an obligation to get on with your life." And as if demonstrating a principal in overcoming, she stepped up on to the low wall and stared out at the endless grass. "You'll need to forgive yourself, though, that would be the first step."_

"_And just what does the sainted Minerva McGonagall know about losing your self and then being told to soldier on again?"_

"_Entirely too much, Filius," she said over her shoulder. And symbolically leaving the past and the expectations of Hogwarts behind with one leap, she jumped from the wall. With a smile full of youth and ease, she then turned to him. He knew somehow he was expected to make the same jump, even without words passing between them. She meant for him to clear the small wall .... to hurtle the guilt and grief that tried to keep him fenced into the past._

"_Where are we going, old thing?" he dared ask, as he got a foot hold in the mossy stones. _

"_There's a creek down the hill a piece...."_

"_Ah, I should have known," he said, as he nimbly clamored over the wall._

"_Should have known?" she asked, hands on hips._

"_The creek? The last bit of this pep talk is the ritual baptism."_

"_Would that help?" she asked with impish sarcasm. "I was only going down because the best apples grow there. But if you need me to hold your head underwater..."_

###

Poppy crept forward in the darkened infirmary toward the Headmistress' bed. "Filius," she ventured softly. "Why not get some sleep yourself?"

Minerva stirred then. Opening her eyes and trying to raise a hand to her aching head. Poppy caught her hand and smiled knowingly at her. "I'll get you something for the pain." The Matron looked at Filus then. "Put the bottle down," she chided. "And hold her hand while I'm gone."

"Yes," Minerva managed. "I want the whole treatment, Filius. Come closer here and pat my hand. I'll want a good night kiss later," she tried to joke.

But Filius could see she knew. They both knew. Women frightened him like that sometimes. Minerva understood that the one who needed the most comforting that night was him. He put the bottle on the floor beside his glass and scraped the chair closer. He tried a smile then as he took up her hand and kissed the back of it.

"Thank you, Filius," she told him intently. "For everything you've done. I know..."

"No. Thank you," he corrected.

And the two old friends understood each other plainly. She gave him a tired smile and squeezed his hand. Granting him the forgiveness and acceptance he felt he needed once again. Whether he felt he had the strength for it or not, he knew she needed him to clear that wall again and soldier on.

///


	49. Chapter 49

_**A/N: Did I pass my limit on chapters without sexual content? I'm sure I did. And no one complained. I am thinking that means that you folks do not want to read any of that silly illicit stuff. If that's the case, you'll want to avoid major parts of this chapter. **_

* * *

Everything had changed since Albus Dumbledore had died. The Death Eaters seemed untouchable suddenly and the Aurors impotent. Coverage of the headmaster's funeral and a retrospective on his life were pushed off the front page of the Daily Prophet by stories of renewed disappearings, daylight raids on Muggle London, and assassination attempts.

The dark forces' attacks seemed to be random, frighteningly calculated, and unstoppable all at once.

Severus was another thing that had changed. He seemed to want to let go. Hermione knew he was reacting to something that he sensed, because she felt it too. That feeling that the future he had warned her about was all too close now.

The worse the news from across the country, and the closer they got to a final battle, the more he was trying to put some distance between the two of them. Hermione could sense it in his touch and in the words that went unsaid. And she fought against it each time she saw him. She drew him closer and held him, hoping that with patience and comfort she would win him over. She hoped that he would let her keep him.

He was silent now in her bed. His hand and attention rested on her belly. The ever increasing size of her abdomen seemed to announce the passage of time.... it seemed to increase the feeling that the future was inescapable and pressing on them. She was 34 weeks along now. It would just be a few more weeks until she went into labor. Until the baby was born.

When she confided in him that she was frightened by the prospect, he offered up every reason for comfort other than himself. The midwife would be here within minutes if she sent for her. Aberforth was obviously very devoted and would do what he could. Minerva, Severus reminded her, would never turn her back on her.

Hermione dropped her head at the words that were missing. _I'll be there_, she wished he could say.

His hand coaxed her chin up. And he pressed closer. This was a new found intuition for her moods. A new found vulnerability to her emotions set his hands to trace her face. He was practicing distraction, her mind warned her.

Lips at her throat begged her not to notice that he couldn't say the things she wanted to hear. He pressed her to her back for just a moment then to kiss her deeply. And he showed how much he understood then. He rolled her to her side, knowing she was skittish about spending too much time resting on her back after the midwife's warnings that it was bad for the baby.

He eased her shirt up. And pulled her trousers lower. He kissed her breasts and moved lower then to put his lips in the hollow of her hip.

Her hand tangled in his hair and encouraged him to linger there. "Who knew?" she said as a tease.

"Hmm," was all he hummed as he moved over her skin.

"Who knew I was one giant erogenous zone," she finished for him.

"What are you trying to tell me?" he asked, trying to sound innocent and unaffected.

But he knew. She knew he did. Because his hand was pushing her trousers lower still.

"We are going to have to be very... ingenious," he told her then "Quite literally circumspect to accomplish this. You can't be on your back. I can't get anywhere near you from the front."

"You'll manage," she told him. "I am getting some very lovely visions of how you've managed in the past."

"Like this, you mean?" And she felt him move in behind her as she lay on her side. She felt her leg pulled up and tucked behind his raised knee. He hadn't touched her yet really, and still, she heard herself moaning. It was that wanton feeling she got from being held open and waiting for him.

And he made her wait then, as if he was holding out for a certain code word. An admission from her that he was what she needed.

"Touch me, please," she begged.

And his fingers slipped to where she needed them. She groaned at the feeling. "More," she told him as she arched back. His teeth grazed across her shoulder then just as his fingers became more intent on their goal.

She gave herself up then. Let the current of sensation run through her. Let it wash through her brain.

"Just round one," she assured him once she was able, and she closed her eyes.

"Yes," he agreed at her ear.

"Because I need you in me," she promised with a small wiggle against him.

"Good," he told her. And he bided his time then, kissing at her neck and stroking her arm. She smiled as she drifted off, knowing what to expect. He would let her nap a bit and then he would renew the seduction.

###

Hermione climbed back into bed and struggled to get comfortable. Four pillows and a cushioning charm later, she had nearly managed it. She stretched forward to place a kiss on his bare shoulder and then lay down at last beside the sleeping man.

The remarkable thing, she decided as sleep eluded her, was that he returned to her at all. It never seemed definite, but it always happened. Tomorrow she would be alone again as this familiar pattern played out. And she would wonder what it was he had thought about as he had made love to her in the mute darkness of the night.

_Each time, does he ask himself if that was the last time we'd be together?_

_Was the distance he was trying to impose between them supposed to make things easier for her somehow in the end? Could he possibly believe that was possible?_

/// /// ///

Minerva had not moved into the headmaster's office. Despite the funeral, despite the reality of it. She couldn't do it yet.

Thank God she had Alastor back to support her. The recovering wizard had left the clinic in France to come to her when news of Dumbledore's death had reached him.

There had been no warning. And no words. He had knocked briefly and let himself into her quarters. Minerva had been standing at the window. She was staring unseeing at the lawn stretched out below her, a thousand memories playing across her mind. She turned quickly at the sound of the door. Her hand on her wand, she was ready for some confrontation or crisis.

At the sight of him, her rigid frame relaxed. Near gave out.

He moved for her with added stiffness she saw. Her eyes moved from his face to the hip that seemed to be the source of this new pain.

He could see it in her face, the urge to say something. To ask about his injuries. "Shh," he said with a soft shake of his head, and he worked to reach her faster. They met there in the middle of the room. And time stopped then. Wrapped up in his arms, she let herself cry as she had not dared before.

###

"How bad," Minerva finally asked him that night as they lay in bed.

His only answer was to sigh. He kissed her then, slowly and thoroughly, while a single finger traced her collar bone. It was obviously the work of distraction.

And she let him.

It was a slow, liquid suspension of time. They were willing the moments not to pass. Halting breaths begged to forestall not just the morning to come. But any future at all.

Neither of their souls was young enough -or untried enough - to put any trust in what lay ahead.

He wanted it. Wanted it to be the way it had before he left. Wanted to be the brash, capable lover he had become with her at last. But he seemed to have stopped short.

"Tell me where you are hurt. Please, before I end up making it worse." Minerva said this as she pressed herself against the obviously undamaged parts of him.

"Oh God, that feels good," he murmured ignoring her question.

With a gentle hand to his shoulder she rolled him from his side onto his back. There was a small groan from him at the change.

She began to climb on top of him and he caught her. His arms stiffened to hold her off him.

"It's the hip," he finally admitted. "I was cursed. But that wasn't what did the damage. I fell hard. Broke it. It's mended. Just tender. I don't suppose you could manage this with out touching my hip. I would really like to be inside you again."

Silently, she moved back to her side of the bed. Leaving him convinced he was doomed to frustration. But she rolled back again with her wand in hand.

"Good God, woman! Just _**what**_ are you going to aim that at?" he asked trying to sound unconcerned that her wand was pointing at his pajama bottoms.

"Oh, not to worry, I'm fairly adept with charms," she teased, as she tugged his pajamas off. "Although it is not the norm, I admit, to place a cushioning charm on a person."

He flinched as the spell hit him. Then he placed a hand to his hip. He smiled crookedly at the realization that his injury was no longer tender to the touch.

"How long will that last?" he asked wickedly.

She pulled his hand from his hip and then moved both of his arms over his head to rest by the headboard. She held him like that by the wrists while she made a show of pressing against him. "Do you feel anything?" she whispered with feigned innocence.

"Oh yes. And it is lovely," he groaned.

She did have to agree with him, it was distinctly lovely. Still she could not resist the quip. "I had rather meant, how does your **_hip_** feel," she whispered. She continued her lazy, careful rhythm and finally leaned in to kiss him.

He let his eyes fall shut and smiled despite the kisses he was receiving.

There was a bell tolling in his brain then, imploring him to take note. Demanding that he realize that _**this **_is what being happy feels like. It is the warmth of her, the weight of her against his chest, the lingering sound of her concern and teasing in his brain. It is being Minerva McGonagall's lover.

/// /// ///

When Thomas and Elinore arrived at the Hog's Head, Aberforth immediately put them in the other rooms in back of the inn above the goats.

Hermione expected that their strange lodgings would be the initial topic of conversation, but the blonde woman seemed not to care where she was staying.

"The sooner you show us this castle, the better," Ellie told Hermione almost before her bags had hit the ground.

"I've contacted the Headmistress; she'll meet with you," Hermione assured her. "I am fairly certain she is only humoring me though. There is another problem. I'm not sure what you'll see when you get there."

The last comment meant nothing to Ellie. She just continued hefting the contents of her luggage into dresser drawers at random. But Thomas stopped his pacing and snapped his head to Hermione. "There is a protection over it?" he asked. "And being non-magical, we..."

"Yes," Hermione confirmed.

"Whoa!" Ellie interjected finally looking up from her duffle. "You want me to design a defense for a castle I can't SEE?!"

"You'll be able to see it. I'm just not sure what you'll see. If you trust _Hogwarts: A History_, what you'll be able to see is... well, ruins."

"Frankly, I put my trust in the DIA, the CIA, the 82nd Airborne and even the damn..." Ellie began with no small show of agitation.

"There's nothing to do but go then," Thomas cut in. "So, when do we leave?"

"The problem is... I can't take you," Hermione said sounding sheepish. "I can't be seen there."

"Hermione?" Ellie said cautiously. The tone surprised the pregnant witch. She had expected Elinore to be angry at the admissions, but she sounded strangely concerned now.

"It's because of the deception we needed to create. That deception helped keep a spy in place but it has required me to act like a traitor. A few weeks ago, it wasn't as bad. But now the newspapers have spread the story that I am one of Voldemort's followers. Which makes no sense. Because I'm Muggle born. Um, my parents are unmagical and Voldemort is firmly against people like me.... but maybe the perversity of that whole notion really appeals to the people who are reading this trash..."

"It's alright, Hermione," Thomas said to stop her nervous explanation.

"Someone has put you through the ringer, Hermione." Elinore's words were plain fact without a touch of question to them. Still, Hermione appreciated that there seemed to be concern behind them.

"The headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, is sending two friends of mine from school to escort you to Hogwarts. They'll take you to Minerva and then hopefully, you will get to walk around the grounds and the castle."

"Or whatever it is we think we are seeing," Thomas added with humor.

"Does it get any worse, Hermione?" Ellie asked. "Is there anything else you need to break to us?" The woman smiled then, as if to infer that it didn't matter what the young witch needed to reveal, because there was nothing that Elinore couldn't take in stride.

"I can't even afford to be seen by the two people who are coming here to meet you," she said with a sigh. "No one is supposed to know where I am. We don't want to risk more people knowing where my loyalties really lie."

Ellie blew out a frustrated breath, but nodded reassuringly. "Then there is no point in our coming back here. Traveling back and forth will only draw attention to us and to you. She reached into the drawer and began to pull out some of the things she had just put away. She packed these into a small back pack and then smiled up at Hermione. The young witch looked undone. And Ellie didn't blame her.

"Hang in there, Hermione," the tall blonde said as she crossed the space to her. "You've carried things this far. Let us see what we can do to help now." Hermione was surprised to feel the woman's arms wrap around her. But she let her eyes fall shut and her head come to rest on Elinore's shoulder.

///


	50. Chapter 50

"Braxton Hicks," Hermione managed. She didn't have the energy to explain that phrase to the two Americans who were staring at her with concern. So she just closed her eyes and continued to rub at her abdomen. Finally, the tensing sensation subsided.

"Tell me you are not going into labor...." Thomas begged.

"It's just Braxton Hicks. They aren't real contractions. Just a painless sort of practice contraction."

"_**That**_ did not look painless," Ellie said from her side of the room.

"Apparently, I have no tolerance for pain," Hermione agreed pitifully. "Because even the Braxton Hicks are uncomfortable."

"But you have weeks to go right?" Thomas asked, looking for reassurance.

Hermione stared at him bitterly. The combat veteran obviously had no problem crossing the planet to plan and execute a battle, but it horrified the man to think he would witness the baby's arrival. "Yes," she said flatly. "Five weeks, give or take."

Later that afternoon the three of them were again in Hermione's room. She was showing them background reading on Hogwarts, hoping they would learn something useful. Partly, this foray into the various texts was prompted by Ellie's inability to sit still. Although, she had not complained, it was obvious that the woman's personality was not suited to waiting when she could be tackling the problem. Hermione had wisely decided it would be best to fill the hours before the appointed time to meet Seamus and Neville in the Hogs Head. It was either that or endure the woman's pacing, and endless checking and rechecking of her gear.

Hermione left Thomas and Ellie huddled over a table of resources and stood up to retrieve some of her maps. She was half way across her room when another spasm gripped her. She groaned, and Thomas found himself on his feet now, hovering over the young witch.

When the knock came, Elinore easily surmised no one else was likely to answer the door. So, the tall woman found herself cutting a wide path around the pair in the center of the floor and walking for the familiar sounding knocks. "Do you suppose that's tea? Do we get tea every day? That's a bright spot," she said to no one.

The man on the other side of the door was definitely not the inn keeper. Taller and sterner, and obviously an aficionado of black, the man was no one Elinore had ever seen before.

Thomas instinctively increased the distance between himself and Hermione at the sight of the new comer.

"Braxton Hicks," Thomas said in lieu of a greeting. The only answer Snape seemed prepared to give was an eye brow gently crooked in something akin to amusement. "I'm Thomas. You must be the ..."

"Yes," Severus preempted, heavily.

Hermione had finally looked up; the sensation was gone at last. And without preamble, she said, "Severus, these are two friends I met in America. Thomas and Ellie." The Potion Master was too well versed in the business of lies not to know he was getting a mere pittance of the whole story.

He tried hard not too revert to his Hogwarts personae as he stared at her. After all, Hermione was not his student. But it was no use. He felt his eyebrow arch and his eyes widen expectantly as if he was begging an errant first year to try to float more stories and excuses his way.

"Yes," Hermione said in knowing answer to Severus' silence. "But they can't stay. They have a meeting to make." This was not how Hermione had planned on saying good bye to the pair who had risked so much to help her. But there it was.

Thomas gave her a reassuring smile though, and told her, "Take care of yourself. And hopefully, you'll hear back from us soon."

Once the door closed on Thomas and Ellie, Hermione turned on Severus. "We're going out." That only met with silence, so she tried more gently, "Let's go out..."

"Out?"

"Yes, out. As in someplace that isn't here. I've been cooped up in this room forever. I get my meals delivered in a pail, for the love of God. I answer the door to secret knocks. And the only people I have contact with, well, except for those two," she said with a nod toward the neighboring room, "are a man who smells of goats and one who seems determine to sever our relationship by degrees."

"What?"

"I'm not stupid, Severus."

"No..." he finally replied. He had obviously weighed his answer and chosen the safe 'marking time in the conversation' option.

"Nor am I emotionally unaware. You have been backing away from me to the point where our touching seems like something I am doing with a stranger." His look of surprise then was priceless and unexpected. The man was rendered speechless and feeling transparent. "So," she continued. "We are going out for dinner. Or at the very least, I am.

"You want to go out to dinner?"

"Yes," she said biting her tongue. She was begging herself not to say, _'That would be why I SAID I am going out to dinner.'_ "We were front page news. We are traitors to the Order and to the memory of Albus Dumbledore," she said sardonically. "Everyone thinks you a despicable, perverted bastard. But you cannot tell me that you do not know a single restaurant in either the Wizarding or Muggle world where we could have a decent dinner together."

"I admit you wanting to go out in public with a 'despicable, perverted bastard' had not occurred to me."

"Did you think that I would sleep with you, tell you I love you, and at the same time not want to be seen with you?"

"The behavior you are describing is not foreign to males."

She rolled her eyes before continuing. "Dinner, Severus. I deserve dinner out before you completely run this relationship into the ground."

"Let's get your coat, shall we?" he said with a thin smile.

/// /// ///

Thomas and Ellie sat in the Hog's Head knowing only that they were waiting for two young Wizards. One had been described as tall, the other short with close cropped hair. But Thomas was guessing they would find him. After all, his quick survey of the place confirmed that he was the only Native American around.

And the two young men did find them. After quick introductions, Seamus and Neville proved to be as eager to get moving as the two Americans were. So, the group wasted no time in heading back to Hogwarts.

As they walked, Neville explained as much as he could about the recent war news. Bits of his speech were punctuated by Seamus' interruptions, however, as the Irishman had a more succinct, pugnacious thought process.

The bottom line, Thomas and Ellie soon decided, was that with Albus Dumbledore dead and little resistance elsewhere, the castle would be attacked in the next few weeks if not days.

"What do you see?" Neville asked worriedly as the castle came into view.

"A castle," Thomas answered.

"But it has seen better days," Ellie chimed in, as she shifted her pack.

"You see the castle in ruins?" Thomas asked as he turned to face her. "Like Hermione said we might?"

"You are telling me you see a castle. Complete and whole?" Elinore demanded, incredulous.

"Flags flying, the whole thing," he said sounding happy.

"I hate you," she told him with an exasperated eye roll. She walked on ahead.

Seamus watched her go. He thought her not just beautiful in that moment, but striking. He found himself smiling at her biting humor and the show of irritation. The rough edges to her personality and her obvious strengths were more inviting to him than the vapid weakness so many women led with. This was a woman he wanted to get to know, _**if**_ he could even keep up with her.

"Elinore," he said, as he jogged up behind her.

"Ellie," she shot back. "Just call me 'Ellie the non-seeing.'

"Ellie, I might be able to help." She stopped then and looked at him critically. "My dad's a Muggle," Seamus said once they were close enough together that he could talk quietly. "He couldn't see the castle either."

"But?" she prompted, sensing there was more.

"But there might be a way to change what you see." He looked over his shoulder and saw that Thomas and Neville had nearly caught up. He put a hand to Elinore's arm then and urged her to walk with him. "We can talk about it more later. In the mean time, we can chat. Okay?" He cleared his throat then and forced his words to slow down. He could feel a strange confidence start to flood him. "I had no idea what to expect when the headmistress told us there were former Army officers coming from the States. I had actually pictured two old John Wayne types."

"Sorry to disappoint," Elinore said, cheekily.

"Oh, I'm not disappointed," the Irishman said with a teasing brogue and half a smile. He forced his gaze to stay fixed on the horizon then, but he walked a tad closer to her.

/// /// ///

_It's still early_, Severus thought to himself. There was no reason to go straight to any restaurant.

But he had his motives for Apparating them first to a Muggle shopping district for a walk. Hermione had made a brave speech about loving him, but she deserved to see the futility of a public life with him. He knew he did not fit in with Muggles. His clothes, his hair, everything about him was an attention-grabbing disaster.

_And surely_, he thought, _she could not be so blinded by romantic insensibility that she would miss the stares that the obvious difference in our ages produced.... especially with her so undeniably pregnant. _

Either she did miss it or she was completely unbothered by it. She walked holding his arm, occasionally leaning into him as if some sort of odd emotional swell had compromised her balance. Rather than rushing him through the street and begging that they find some place out of the way for dinner – as he had expected- she tugged him over to shop windows and engaged him in smiling conversation.

He felt vaguely out of touch as things left the path he had predicted. He was a man outside the scene his body was playing out.

_Diagon Alley_, he decided. _She wants to be in public? Let her see what that means where we are known. _ It was still light out, all the stores still open across the Wizarding shopping district. They would be easily spotted and identified. He would let Hermione experience what the result of her youthful declaration was.

Once in the Wizarding world, it took no time at all to be recognized. While they were not approached, the glares were there as they walked these respectable areas. From across the street and out the windows that lined the sidewalks, there were stares and quickly averted heads.

It was Severus who finally shortened his stride as if he could ignore the continued attention no longer.

"I don't care," she told him.

He did stop then. He pulled up short on the side walk to look at her. His eyes were sharply focused as if they would weigh the truth of what she was saying. He was being forced to wonder what he should believe.

She had to turn back now to face him. "What is it?" she asked.

"I was deciding where to take you," he lied stiffly.

And she let the lie stand. "I want something spicy," she told him with a crooked smile. "Thai? Indian, maybe?"

He retrieved her hand from where it had wound into the smooth line of his buttons. And he reigned in his surprise. With her hand still lightly in his, he nodded in the direction they should walk. "Maybe," he said then, answering her at last. "Maybe."

###

"Spicy enough for you?"

"Fantastic," Hermione told him. "How did you find a place that serves crawfish etouffee here?" she said with a happy smile.

"Age. Wisdom. Experience." His words seemed sad and resigned, despite the hint of a smile that followed them. "There are some interesting places hidden in this end of town."

He was indulging her, perhaps, she thought. He had his eyes on the end of the relationship. And the bastard likely thought what he was doing was noble. But she wouldn't spoil tonight, it being her first night out in weeks. And she wouldn't ruin the picture she wanted to keep in her head. There were things he could not take from her. Things like the sight of him behind those expressive hands. Or the deceptively patient quirk to his mouth after she had reached across their table to brush his hair back.

They had stood from dinner and were heading for the door. The music that played now seemed to be targeting Hermione. She found herself walking in time with it. The dance floor was empty she saw. The dinner crowd had not warmed to the idea of music yet, and the dancing set had not arrived. On the edge of the small parquet floor now, Hermione turned so that she was facing Severus, blocking his progress for the door. She smiled up at him and latched on to his coat.

"It's going to end. It's all going to leak away.... because you'll let it. But I'll have this," she told him.

"Don't," he said.

"Don't what?" she asked, as she slid one hand up to his shoulder.

"Don't make the mistake of thinking I will indulge you any further." There was more sadness than malice in the warning.

"Dancing? You mean you believed I thought that you would dance with me? Oh, I'd never think such a thing." Her words and her manner were strangely at odds.

His hands were holding her arms, he realized. It was by necessity, he told himself. It was an obligatory move now that she was swaying a bit.

He knew they made a strange picture. Beauty and her frozen devil. He could feel how tense his arms were as he held the young woman at a distance.

There was movement near the far wall that caught his eye. Or perhaps it was a withering appraisal that refused to be ignored. Severus picked out an elderly barman who had paused in his tasks to assess the pair on the dance floor. The old Wizard turned his gaze from the two of them to meet Severus' eyes alone then. And slowly, almost imperceptibly, he shook his head. The message was clear. He pitied the younger man's inability to prize what was being offered to him.

If Severus had not already been rigidly motionless there, he would have locked up in response.

_When was the last time anyone had the balls to tell Severus Snape he was a fool?_ He looked back down at Hermione and relaxed his grasp.

And at that moment she released him. "Thank you," she told him.

"My pleasure," he said in a far away voice, unsure what had earned her gratitude.

###

She tarried against him once they were outside – not wanting the 'date' to end before she was ready. He seemed oddly pliant suddenly in providing her this parting fantasy, and so she decided to continue it. With a wicked smile, she eyed the alley next to them. She looped her fingers through his and pulled gently at his hand, urging him into the darkness with her. Once she was into the shadows there, she turned to face him. Pulling him by both hands now, she backed toward the restaurant's brick wall. "This is a request," she whispered as she raised up on her toes and kissed his neck.

He was still acting so oddly that she was not surprised that he began to question her rather than kiss her.

"What is it you are doing?" he asked intently.

"I had thought we were saying goodbye. One last fling before I let you disappear on me."

"At least four people saw you bring me into this alley."

She shook her head confused. "I don't care. I am not out with you to be seen or to avoid being seen. This isn't part of any play. We aren't posing for Malfoy or Poppy or any of the others that we've had to act for. Forget all that. You are with me right now, and I need it to be one hundred percent. I _**needed**_ it to be that," she said switching to the past tense. Demanding fingers were drilling the words into his chest. "All of your attention..."

"All of me?" he tried silkily, as bent to kiss at her neck.

"If you can't..." Her words began in halting fashion. "You've been so damn distant," she complained even as her head moved back to encourage him more. "Pushing me away, even when you were with me..."

His fingers were inside the edge of her blouse now.

"You aren't listening," she accused.

"One hundred percent," he whispered with none of his usual affectation. "I haven't been with you as often as you wanted. And when I was, you did not feel you had ... all of me."

"Why do you assume it translates into a desire for sex?" she said as his hands worked her blouse further open. "All of your _**attention**_. I wanted you to be _**mentally**_ present..." The sensations he was provoking were too much then. "God!" she finished. He had bent his head to shamelessly work his tongue into her bra. Suddenly, she was a contradiction of anger and want.

"Stop, just for a second. Stop!" she told him. He looked up now, his mouth held open with the effort to pull air in against the desire. His one hand was extended over her head, holding him off her as he leaned into the brick wall of the alley. "What are we doing?" she asked, sounding confused. She was sure everything had changed on her. He had gotten the upper hand somehow.

"I asked you that 5 minutes ago. You told me we were saying good bye. One last fling you told me."

_Were his words bitter,_ she asked herself?

Everything had gotten twisted. Her intentions. His words and actions. This seemed too cold a thing to do. Her want for one last night with him seemed so calculated and empty suddenly. He was looming over her and offering her what she had said she wanted. But it was a night where he had to manufacture the ability to be attentive and present.

She pushed her chin down and began closing the buttons of her blouse. "I can't. I thought I could. I thought I could be blasé about this whole thing and I can't.... I love you too much. I can't do good bye like this."

He was another man then, hushing her as she fought off his help to do up her buttons. "Let me take you home, this is a ridiculous place..."

The light caught them then. And the camera's shutter, though far off, was distinct in the sudden quiet of the alley. Hermione took a mental snap shot of the image that would be the next morning's front page – Severus Snape's hands and hers both working the buttons of her top - and all she could do was weakly complain. "For Christ's sake...." she whined.

Severus became that blur he had been in the paper months before. He moved quickly to maneuver Hermione against him while he pulled his wand and fired a mild curse down the alley. Pivoting quickly, he turned them to Apparate.

###

Outside her room, he let his hold of her fall away once he registered how stiff she seemed against him.

"It was a great night. Give or take. Thanks," she told him as she lowered the wards on her door.

It was unmistakably dismissive, post-date dialogue. Being Severus Snape, he did not know this from memory, so much as from intuition.

He stepped a bit closer then. There was no contact between them. He just loomed there, as if the promise of his touch would win his entrance into her room.

"Not tonight. The prospect of sleeping with a stranger is more than I can deal with tonight. But thank you again for dinner. Who knows when I'll get out again?"

She waited, but he made no move to leave. But seeing he could not meet her eye, she suspected there was something he wanted to say. She would listen, she decided, and spare him at least a moment before she retreated.

"You are better off without me," he began. She shook her head slowly with tired exasperation, but he continued. "But I don't want to debate that point." He lingered there, obviously unable to frame the thoughts in his head.

He couldn't find any words he trusted himself to say. She put her hand to his chest as she had earlier that evening. And after toying with the buttons sadly, she pushed him lightly with her palm. "Just go."

He took her hand then and worked his fingers over it. "Tonight..." she thought she heard him begin. His eyes were on her hand alone, she noticed, as if he did not trust himself to look at her face.

"Go," she told him weakly.

He nodded then. But rather than withdraw, he leaned slowly forward until he could kiss her. It was not the kiss that tweaked her resolve. It was the hand that still lightly held hers against his chest. It was the touch to her cheek as his lips pulled back.

"You," he whispered, "deserve better." And before she could object, his mouth was on hers again. It was as if he was two people. One pushing her away. One pleading his case. "Tonight," he began, as if frustrated or angry. "It wasn't..." but he faltered. He tried to disguise his lack of words with more kisses.

"I don't regret this," she told him as she pushed him back. "I don't regret you. I haven't just been making the best of a bad situation."

"I know." Kisses. More kisses. Long and lingering. And different somehow. "Let me in," he whispered.

"I don't want sex," she warned as she leaned away. "Not tonight. Just..."

"But a back rub would not be remiss, I am sure. And you will need help arranging the herd of pillows you use."

_It's not what you do, _she wanted to insist._ I want to look at you and know you are **with me** - one hundred percent here. _ She knew she always pushed too much, however. Tonight she wouldn't do that. She would just look at him, see if the confirmation was there. Hope it was.

"Yes," he said. "Tonight, I'm all here." It wasn't Legilimency that had let him know what she had been thinking, she understood. She was just that transparent with him.

###

"Number five," he informed her. He proceeded then to tuck a pillow between her ankles as she lay on her side.

"No need to tease," she shot back.

"I am merely striving for efficiency," he claimed.

"Fine. Forget the one that goes behind. Just..."

"Just _**be**_ that pillow?" he demanded with mock effrontery as he climbed into bed.

"I changed my mind. I want to kiss you. Don't make me roll over to do that."

"Indeed. It's only 6 hours till day light." Carefully then, he cleared her legs so that he could lie down in front of her.

"How are you?" she ventured once they were face to face.

"Situations have been better. Over all. But I have not felt better .... than right now." The words were very nearly too surreal coming from Severus Snape until he added an, "Oddly."

And that righted things.

It was such an honest thing to say that she could not blame him. She preferred it to any other man's bland and false sentiment.

"It _**is**_ odd. Things are horrid out there. But if we try, we can let things be good here. Or better at least," she said, afraid to claim too much success.

They kissed softly then for a few quiet minutes before she tried to settle in to sleep. The dip to the bed with him there, the pillows being pushed into her... it wasn't going to work she had to admit.

"Can you move back now?" she asked sheepishly. "I like having you at my back and..."

He began to move without making her explain further. But he made small groans of protest as he shifted over her. "It is unseemly to be ordered about so."

"No. '_**Unseemly'**_ is the picture that is going to be on the front page of the Prophet tomorrow. I anticipate an uptick in strokes across the country when people wake up to see a picture of us - like that... You with your hands on my... buttons."

"Yes. Those who know you will be surprised to see the .... growth in you and your .... **_buttons_**."

"Yes, that could be our rebuttal. You were only helping me carry them."

Comfortably settled behind her now, he worked to stop the conversation by massaging her back. "Sleep," he suggested.

"Severus? What's going to happen when the baby's finally born?"

"It's going to be the end of life as we know it." Luckily, he said this with just enough lilt to his voice that she took the humor in it.

"You're probably right," she admitted with an accommodating sort of sigh.

It was easier to accept a world of madness with this man at her back. Especially when all of him was truly there and at her back.


	51. Chapter 51

_A/N: Thanks to the dear Selmak for her assistance. She has been keeping her eye to the plot for me! This is long (by my standards) with a cast of thousands. Okay, it seems that way. I am SO thrilled to get this up! It seemed tough as the further in we go, the more complicated the threads get... well, for me. _

_I loved opening my mail box and finding reviews and subscriptions as I slogged through my course. Thanks guys.  
_

* * *

"Is there anything you could use to lure Voldemort here?" Thomas asked immediately on the heels of being introduced to Minerva McGonagall. "Would something get him to attack before he was ready? We need to provoke him into giving us that advantage."

"Harry Potter," Seamus chimed in. "If he thought Harry was here..."

Minerva was a bit unnerved by Finnigan's easy suggestion that Harry become bait. But her mind moved on, quickly latching onto the one other thing that would force Voldemort's hand.

"Professor?" Thomas asked, seeing her unease.

"The Horcruxes. If we were to find the last of the Horcruxes, or if he knew we were near enough to it, he would attack us," Minerva answered, "without a second thought."

"And you suspect one of those things is here, at the castle?" Ellie asked.

"Yes."

###

It was with some reluctance that Minerva then left the young Muggle woman to discuss the castle interior with Alastor and Seamus. Her dear man had started off making a subdued, well, relatively subdued, appearance by donning a soft leather eye patch in place of his normal prosthetic. But the Headmistress was sure he was about to ruin that with the way he was leaning on his staff and peering at the blonde waif like she was a strange curiosity.

"I told you," Minerva could swear she heard Finnigan tell the old Wizard. And Alastor had the audacity to hum appreciatively.

Minerva rolled her eyes. Yes, the woman was evidently worth looking at, but how much help was she going to be when she was affected by the charms that disguised the true look to the castle?

###

Outside now, Minerva guided Thomas around the castle exterior. The young man walked at a respectable distance from the tall witch. He sensed so much in Professor McGonagall. She was at once boundless and other worldly. His mind was not sure what sort of honorific to give her. Different names came to mind unbidden from the mix of cultures in him. He wondered at this way his thoughts were working. It was as if his grandfather was there at his elbow to prompt him to see these connections.

_Grandmother._ It would have felt right to call her. Or _Old Woman_. But she would not have understood the honor he would have been implying.

In her he saw _She-Who-Carries-the-Sun_, that centuries dead heroine and warrior. Years ago his grandfather had told him to treat the past as if it is alive. _"These people, you should not see them merely as words in a white man's book, but as something you expect to find walking beside you."_

And here she was.

Minerva and Thomas surveyed the castle grounds together, considering terrain and talking of the spells that protected the area. Thomas hoped they would be able to quickly identify a likely route of a coming attack.

His attention was pulled to the stone wall near the gate then. Minerva walked in the opposite direction having spotted Madam Hooch coming back from the flying shed.

Minerva was glad for the chance to consult her old friend and hurried closer. "Rolanda, would you join us?" Minerva leaned in and whispered, "This odd young man is talking about 'close air support' and I have decided that you can figure out what that means."

Hooch was no stranger to that prickly feeling at the back of her neck when something was off. Today that feeling had gone whole body. She was having trouble not giving over to visible shivers. "He's looking at me like I'm on the menu, Min. What sort have you gotten yourself involved with?"

"Well, they are Muggles..."

Rolanda blurted out a sarcastic, "No!" that made her sound sixteen.

"No. I'm not kidding," Minerva managed with a stony glare. "There are two of them, both former military officers from the States .... apparently they specialize in this sort of thing."

"Castles? Or staring at reputable witches as if they were three headed hippogriffs?"

Minerva decided the comments finally demanded she look over at Thomas to see if he was actually visually dissecting the woman.

"I had thought it was just culture shock that was affecting him, but you know, it's probably your bum. You do look nice in those leathers," Minerva said, letting her eyes travel the length of the Flying Instructor. "Really, if it wasn't for Alastor...."

Minerva managed that comment with enough of a straight face that Hooch was caught speechless, a minor marvel that the Headmistress would enjoy later. As delightful as Rolanda's leathers were in full swagger, Minerva knew what had likely drawn the lanky young man's attention in reality. It was Rolanda's eyes. Similarly, Minerva knew that Madam Hooch had tired of people mentioning their distinctive hawk-like quality long before she had gotten old enough to be called, 'Madam Hooch.'

/// /// ///

Hermione had not slept well. The pains had come and gone for hours. All night they had seemed rhythm-less and unpredictable. She was only 36 weeks, she kept reminding herself. The pains would stop. There would be another few weeks of being pregnant, at least.

But now the light was coming in the window and morning seemed to bring the contractions some coherence. There were those moments when she could do nothing. Just try to relax and then wait for the reprieve.

It was time to talk to Aberforth. She made it to the door of her room when another pain hit. Resting her head, she waited it out. And then she moved for the landing and the stairs. She sat then, knowing there was another contraction coming. And in that wait-and-go fashion, she finally made it to the main room of the Inn. There was no one there yet, and a small wave of panic swept through her that everyone could have somehow left. She rang the bell at the reception area and felt the pain return. When Aberforth stumbled out to the front, he found Hermione gripping the tall desk.

"What's this?" he asked. "Despair? Complaint? Please. It's early, so just tell me." And with the innate precision of laboring women, she reached up and grabbed him by the collar despite having her eyes screwed tightly shut.

"Shud'up," she said with difficulty. "Midwife. Now."

He ignored the hand near his throat and tried to sound reassuring. "Oh, girl. Looks like today's the day from the look of you. A little early, huh? Got an impatient boy in there? Don't you worry, I'll get the midwife. Send a bird over. God, it's early," he said as he looked around. He worked himself loose from Hermione's grip so he could look for an owl, but Hermione latched on to him again - only harder. And with both hands. "I could whistle for a bird, I suppose. No need for me to leave you." He pulled a stub of pencil from a pocket and accio'd a gum wrapper from the floor to write on. _"Mistress Battleworth, we need you. NOW. Aberforth,"_ he scribbled.

...

The bird must have come and been sent on during her last contraction, Hermione thought, because she now felt a surprisingly gentle hand rubbing her back, while soft words told her, "She'll be here soon. Let me get you back to your room."

Hermione whimpered with relief but didn't move. She continued to rest her head against Aberforth and marveled that she had never before noticed how wonderfully soothing his voice was.

/// /// ///

Seamus and Elinore sat together having lunch. For the past few days, they had taken all their meals as a pair, apart from everyone else. Ellie found the strange sights and sounds she picked up when in the castle to be disorienting. Things were all off to her. Blurred and changing. The noises muted and haunted seeming. Seamus understood all that. He knew it would be easier for her away from the busiest parts of the castle. Away from the deep interior.

His conversation showed a certain understanding, too. He asked about the things she had done before. He told her about the battle he envisioned he was training for. And he talked about his family. The best of both worlds, he called it.

"We don't pick these things," he said, as if he was selling her a belief in fate... or Magical/ Muggle relationships.

"We should pick the things we can," Ellie countered. Things seemed a little uncomfortable suddenly. Too personal. Too close. She put some distance between them as they sat there together, but even that was not enough to ease the way she felt.

"So, if we go outside, is there a way you'll be able to help me see the castle?" she asked as she stood up.

###

Seamus stood there on the grass facing Ellie. He was afraid to have this not work. And with good reason, because he didn't really know what he was doing. He had never been an overly strong practitioner of magic, he reminded himself, and suddenly he was with a woman he actually liked - _like that._

"Are you comfortable with me?" Seamus asked, and he ran a hand up and down her arm.

"I trust you. You seem...." she said sounding unsure.

"Nice?" he asked, feigning a wince.

"Not nice. Easy to like," she clarified.

"Good. So, if we are close ... in a way... and I try to help you concentrate on seeing what I see..."

"This is a ploy. Isn't it?" she cut in, sounding more amused that anything else.

"No," he said quickly. "Well. If I want to kiss you anyway, but I am still doing this hoping you can see the castle.... does that count as...?"

"Oh, Christ. I don't know," came Ellie's short-tempered answer.

"Stop thinking about it."

"About...?"

"About anything," he said so quietly she was forced to lean closer and turn her mind only to what he was saying. "We need to be close. Sort of linked. And we concentrate on how I see the castle."

He was leaning in now, and she heard herself warning him even as she moved to meet him. "Just so you know, I may have forgotten how to do this." He laid a hand to her face thinking she would stop talking. But she didn't. "I was busy. I mean, lots to do. Always on the go." Their lips were only an inch apart now, and it seemed she was not done explaining. "There was just never anyone worth kissing around whenever I got the inclination to..."

So, he kissed her.

"I told you," she said. "Waste of time. Out of practice."

"You're beautiful," he told her leaning in to kiss her again.

"I'm not. Not really."

"Shhh," he said with a hint of laughter. "So," he said easing back. "Did you concentrate? How does the castle look?"

She turned her head to look at the school. "It's decrepit," she sighed sounding resigned."Your parents stood here? Right here, and your dad could see the castle? Your mom just had to kiss him?" she said with a bit of rising impatience.

"All she had to do was hold his hand and help him concentrate. But they'd been together almost 15 years at that point."

"You get 15 _**minutes**_ to make this work, Seamus," Elinore teased. "And that's 15 minutes with us standing upright, if you know what I mean."

Since he was on the clock, he decided to kiss her again.

"You are way too young for me, you know that? Right?" She meant them as words of warning or protest, but even she could hear the ridiculous way they came out all breathy sounding.

/// /// ///

"You've been practicing in here?" Thomas said as he surveyed the Room of Requirement and the assembled students. "Just here?"

"Yes, sir," Neville answered warily.

"That would be lovely, if we could get the Death Eaters to attack us in the Room of Requirement. Can you train in the castle's entry way.? And what about the court yard... will the Headmistress let you..."

"We can make this room look like those places," Neville said cheerfully.

"Do it," Thomas ordered, eager to see this magic.

Neville's face contorted with concentration and the very air seemed to change around them. Thomas instinctively widened his stance as if he expected to be knocked off balance, but he was grinning with enjoyment. "Beautiful," he said seeing the heavy doors and stone floors of the castle's main entrance. "Break into teams. Attack and defend." And the tall man turned to leave. With luck, Moody was still on the courtyard, he thought. He needed a word with him.

###

The Auror narrowed the eye he still owned as he listened to Thomas. And the students scattered there outside stood at a distance they deemed safe. Luna was the only one who ventured steps forward.

"... and I need to know when they are coming," Thomas said, too brusquely. "You people can fly. You need two teams in the air at all times."

Alastor leaned into his heavy stick and let the man walk circles around him. "What do you have for night vision?" the American wanted to know then.

Thomas turned then and suddenly quieted. He had picked up on something here in the courtyard, Luna decided.

The air breathed of his intent now. Something else Luna easily noted. Was it nervousness? Unease? But this man had seemed so sure when he was talking about their preparations.

It was Madam Hooch, Luna suddenly understood. The flying instructor had stepped out of the shadows of a recessed doorway on the far side of the courtyard. And the two were staring at each other now.

/// /// ///

It was late and Thomas had not seen Ellie for most of the day. Evenings were their scheduled time to talk over what they had accomplished each day. For three nights now they had sketched out defenses. Drafted plans to put older students into units.

Thomas knocked on Ellie's door and registered surprise to see Seamus answer it. The young Wizard excused himself and slid past the taller man and into the hall.

Ellie closed the door once Thomas had come through. "So, how did it go today?" she asked.

"I'm insane," Thomas answered quickly.

"Oh, goody. A fun day was it? Do tell."

"Hooch. The Hawk Woman. I gave her a dandelion today. Because it's the plant totem of the Hawk. Dandelions are also called 'hawkweed'."

"You call it corn, we call it maize?" Ellie quipped. "You are losing it, Thomas."

"You think I don't know that? It gets worse."

"Oh, good. Because now I feel better for letting Seamus.... never mind. Tell me all your troubles Little Big Man." She pushed him into a chair, and he let up a huge sigh as he got settled.

"Rolanda let me know I was wasting my time. Apparently, men do not have much success with Madam Hooch."

"Men don't....? Ah...." Ellie said when understanding hit her. "So, Thomas. This would be a euphemism. Ms. Hooch is one of those women who prefers women to men. Sorry."

"Maybe I am not a man," he said in a strange voice. "Obviously, no woman makes her happy either or she wouldn't be alone."

"Thomas?" Elinore said worriedly.

"It is that way with the Hawk. The Yokut legend tells us that no man could marry her. .... until the Coyote won her."

"You sound like your grandfather right now, Thomas. Hooch is a woman. Well, witch. Yellow eyes. Yes. Spends lots of time flying, yes. But not a hawk. "

He ignored that statement and asked her instead, "Did I ever tell you what my name means?"

"I don't want to know."

"It means Coyote."

"Look, Coyote," she said with a touch of humor. "Elinore means 'shining light' or some such, but I don't glow in the dark." Elinore walked over to her desk and grabbed the stack of sketches. She threw them on the table in front of Thomas then. "I've got the older students broken down into squads and platoons. I've looked over the parapets." She pulled up a chair next to her friend and then told him more gently, "And just so you don't think you are completely alone in losing your mind here, I kissed Seamus today..... repeatedly. I talked to a ghost about special weapons teams, and I got to the point where I can see past some of this curse or spell that disguises the castle only by letting a very short fellow in pointy boots wave a stick at me..."

"You kissed Finnigan?"

"It seemed like the thing to do at the time," she said trying to distract him with more maps.

"Repeatedly?"

"Yes. He thought he could help me see the castle. Look, never mind the obvious insanity," she said waving her hands in front of her as if to chase off the strange conversation. "Do you have a plan for the exterior when we only have a few claymores and small arms?"

Thomas unrolled one of the sketches and then pulled a transparent overlay out of his satchel. "This is my best guess on an approach route given terrain and everything the Headmistress told me about how the enemy operates."

He noticed then that Ellie was pinching her brow and laughing. "What?" he demanded.

"'Small arms.' Sorry. I just remembered. God, I've waited all day to tell you. You should have seen the look on that short charms professor's face when I mentioned 'small arms' today. He was sure I meant him."

/// /// ///

The midwife busied herself, quickly but calmly unpacking her bag.

Aberforth refused to leave the room. "I have been through just as many births as you," he sniffed to Battleworth.

"The difference being that I have presided over the births of HUMANS," the midwife responded.

And as the two of them glared at each other, it was Hermione who spoke up.

"Aberforth?" she managed. "Stay."

He had pushed so hard to be allowed to stay, and suddenly he felt so peculiar about it. She wanted him there. And he knew why. Because there was no one else. Just Battleworth and him.

He was glad he had scrubbed himself clean and good smelling, he thought. As he pulled his chair up next to the bed, he smiled. He extended his hand and let her grab it, let her squeeze it as hard as she wanted.

He just hoped she wouldn't ask him if he had owled Severus yet.... because he had. Two hours ago and there had been no word back.

/// /// ///

The Death Eaters had swept in and swept out again, firing curses at the castle walls and finally setting the Quidditch stadium on fire.. It had been a recon, Alastor figured. But they had probably also been looking for someone they could kidnap without much fuss. Some easy target. Luckily everyone had been following their instructions and staying inside the castle.

A shaky Fifth Year still had his wand drawn. "There were 15 of them," he told anyone who would listen. "I saw them."

"There were ten," Luna said as she walked next to Neville.

"That was nothing," Thomas announced to the group pressed into the courtyard. "That was Voldemort testing your lines. _**If **_you had lines to test. He'll come back. With more forces. And he'll want the castle. You need to get ready."

"Get up," Seamus growled at someone whose knees had gone weak. The Irishman fell in behind Thomas than.

They met up with Ellie along the path the Death Eaters had walked toward the main doors of the castle.

"What do you think?" Thomas asked.

"These Death Eaters lack imagination. They lack training. They bunch up nicely enough that we could take out 10 with a single claymore. And they got so little resistance that they have no reason to change their tactics," Elinore pronounced.

"And?" he pressed, sensing there was more. "These kids are a mess. Well, most of them," she corrected, having seen Neville, Luna, Seamus, and a few others take charge of the rabble.

/// /// ///

The owl came about noon that next day. One of Aberforth's, Minerva instinctively thought as the creature pecked at the window near her desk. The note was positively chatty by the innkeeper's standards, causing the old witch to raise an eyebrow in amusement. But it was, thank goodness, neither bad news nor complaint.

"_It's a boy_," it said. "_Not bad looking. Scrawny, though the midwife says he's fine. Hair like the fuzz on a cygnet. But black. But then I suppose that was to be expected ..." a_nd there was some scratched out thoughts that followed_. She named him Gundi or Jondy or some such. I think it's French. I'll look after her as much as I can as she is on her own just now."_

Minerva felt incapable of putting thought into words for the moment and so silently handed the paper off to Alastor.

"I can't stand to think of her alone in the Hog's Head, trying to take care of the baby on her own," a suddenly protective-sounding Moody said. "I wish I could go there, Minerva. I'd sit with them. I wouldn't take my eyes off them pair of them. I swear. I would keep them safe."

"I know you would," Minerva said softly passing a hand through the hair at the back of the man's head. "And that is one of the many reasons I love you like I do." She kissed him, and he pouted, still unhappy with feeling ineffective. "I'll ask Rolanda to look in on her this weekend, as her allegiances aren't public knowledge. And I think Aberforth has taken a liking to her. He may not be sensible to what the two of them need minute to minute, but he will do the best he can."

"And the bastard that SHOULD be there? I know _**you**_ don't want to believe he was truly trying to kill you the other night, Min. But to me, he is a Death Eater through and through. And worse? Snape has gone and abandoned the girl and the baby..."

"Calm down, Alastor. And sit down. I think it's time I explained some of the oddities about the boy's conception. And Snape's allegiances..."

###

The headlines were awful, and Harry had endured a life time of horrible headlines.

"BOY HERO COMES TO DEFEND CASTLE" the Daily Prophet read.

"Hogwarts' last hope with Dumbledore dead and Aurors in disarray. But is there any hope?" the story continued.

A tired looking Potter threw the paper down. "I wish I knew who was behind this crap," he told Ron.

"I am," Neville admitted with a smile.

"Why does anyone think I can defend a castle on my own?"

"It's brilliant, really. Not that it was my idea, I just leaked it all to the paper. American fellow, Thomas, and his friend Ellie came up with this. They need to get Voldemort to attack before he is ready."

"And I am bait," Harry said with way too much resignation and belief.

"Yes."

"But also, the headline is a masterpiece of psyops."

"Psyops?" Ron asked with a shake of his head.

"Psychological Operations. Like Military Intelligence, really. Disinformation. That headline makes it sound like _**you**_ are all we have to defend the castle. We get the Death Eaters to come in here being over confident, thinking that they are going to face just the students and the staff."

"Well what are they going to face?" Ron demanded.

"You'll see," Neville said.

The red head rolled his eyes and gave up on getting a straight answer from Neville. Ron had come to the conclusion that he preferred the less confident Longbottom – the one he had known just a few months ago. That one might have given up the information if prodded.

Weasley decided to act as if he didn't care what Neville was keeping from him. So, he pulled Harry's paper from across the table and snapped it open in front of him.

There on page two was the gossip column. Under '_WE HAVE IT ON GOOD AUTHORITY_' was a story reporting that Hermione Granger had given birth to a boy. "_As dark haired as his supposed father_," it read. "_No name as of yet. Most likely, she will wait and leave that honor to You-Know-Who_."

"God, it makes me sick," Ron groaned, as he slammed the page down. He slid it in front of Harry and Neville to demand they read it too. "I kept thinking _**something**_ would happen and we would find out it's not his. But it's _**Snape's**_ kid, isn't it? She was sleeping with Snape." Ron seemed to have accepted the knowledge at last. "It probably started over the summer. Then she was sneaking off to be with him here at Hogwarts. God help me," he said with anger starting to rise in him, "I don't know what I will do if I ever see him again."

"You may want to figure that out," Neville said in a voice Weasley didn't recognize. "Because you can bet Snape will be here again. He'll be walking straight up that path, shoulder to shoulder with the rest of those Death Eaters, wanting to take the castle for his lord."

///

To Minerva, it truly felt as if the battle was all too close. Harry Potter was here. The papers were letting the world know that the castle was gearing up to defend itself, supposedly with a 17 year old as the lynch pin of its strategy. And so, what Minerva needed to do now was find the Hufflepuff Cup. That was the only Horcrux that she could hope to find and destroy... if she was right and the other remaining one was Nagini.

She had dragged a confused Filius down to Madam Sprout's quarters to discuss this. "Pomona. You and Filius need to turn your heads to finding the cup. Albus thought it would be here, in the castle somewhere. Ask the ghosts, check the artifact rooms. Talk to portraits. Get Trelawny to tell you where the damn thing is," Minerva said with a desperate sort of rise to her voice. "I don't care how you find it. And when you find it..."

"Destroy it," Pomona said levelly.

"The Gryffndor sword stays where it is," Minerva told them. "But you will have the use of another weapon that should do the job."

"That strange sword that Hagrid took with him when he went off for Albus?" Filius asked.

Minerva nodded, silently surprised that no one seemed to have learned that sword was Beowulf's. Apparently, her side was not as horrid at keeping secrets as she had feared.

"I saw Hagrid with that before he left. The damn thing is as tall as I am, Minerva," Flitwick complained. "Brilliant idea. I can see why you need the two of us now."

Pomona immediately turned to her desk to draw out papers, as if she would launch into the hunt for the cup that minute. Flitwick followed Minerva to the door.

"I know what you are doing, Minerva," he protested.

"I am trying to win a war. And you are going to give me grief over that, aren't you, Filius?"

"You don't want me working on the defense. You don't want me doing the fighting. You think..."

"I think you and Pomona are the best two minds for this. But I _**know**_ that when the day comes and hardened Death Eaters try to take this castle from ancient wizards and mere children that there will be more than enough fight to go around. God help us all."

* * *

_**A/N:** If you hate Jondy or Gundi or whatever Hermione might have named the baby don't worry. After all, as the Daily Prophet inferred, the baby might just get named by someone else!  
_

_ Note on the switcheroo of Horcruxes... if anyone cares. In the books, it is the diadem that is in the castle and the cup is in the vault. Here it is the opposite. In part because I cannot keep a thing straight in my head any more :) But when I considered going back and 'fixing' things, I decided I like it this way. Now Pomona is the most likely person to look for it and Filius being the bright wizard he is (who Minerva wants to protect until she has no options left) is an obvious choice to assist her. Tell me ANYONE is old enough to get the 'you call it corn, we call it maize' bit.... please?  
_


	52. Chapter 52

_**A/N: My thanks to Selmak for the encouragement and the help.**_

* * *

"How are you?" Severus asked. He could see Hermione looked exhausted. But despite the obvious fatigue there was a ghost of a smile about her in every movement.

_How to begin?_ Her mind surged and retreated. _A week and I haven't seen him. Only the one owl_. But looking at him, his face long and weary, she could not believe he had stayed away on purpose.

"The midwife was wonderful, but... well, it was still rough," she admitted. "He's not so very big, the midwife tells me. Only 6 pounds and a bit... but I was fairly certain the Knight Bus was passing through my... well... you know," she said with a a touch of a laugh now.

Severus had turned his eyes to the boy lying in the bassinet. Perhaps as a means to avoid the embarrassing fate of looking at Hermione while she described the birth.

They were a ridiculous picture of a 'family' in that moment in her room, Hermione decided. The three of them separated from each other.

"Go ahead. Touch him," she prompted Severus gently. He continued to look at the boy, somehow surprised that the child would be whole and well. This child. _**His**_, he reminded himself. Looked so happy and confident at only one week old. He slept with his arms thrown over his head, his chest rose and fell regularly. His features were oddly serene.

_Was this our natural state then, before life got a hold of us? _Severus felt his brow crease as he contemplated that and the boy.

The black fluff on the baby's head reminded Severus of a chick's downy feathers, and so he moved to brush at it, to know what it was truly like. First with one finger and then his whole hand.

"His hair is... soft," he said with a tentative palm to the boy's head.

"Yes," Hermione agreed, never raising her eyes from her son.

"You..." he said before he fell silent.

"Yes, Severus?" she asked as gently as she could.

_You. You and this boy, are the last things I willingly stake my life on. The rest of what I have to do... Everything else merely lays claim to me. This... what I can muster... I will give you. _He didn't really understand those words, but he heard them in his head. They must have made sense to some part of him, he decided.

He wished there was something good and full that he could actually tell Hermione. Out loud. Before it all went to hell.

"Hermione," he said as he stooped to lift the child from his bassinet.

"What are you doing?" There had been something in his tone that warned her. Something was very wrong. "Severus," she hissed in a panicked voice.

"He has an audience. If it means anything to you, I swear," and the words came to her then, even as his form and that of the boy's Disapparated. "I will protect him with my life."

/ / /

"The cup was created by Helga Hufflepuff. It is described as a shining golden vessel with two finely crafted handles and a badger engraved on its surface." Pomona had said all of this to Filius before in the week that they had spent working this puzzle. The hope was that by reviewing everything from the start that they would spark on some clue they had missed.

Pomona shot a pitying look to the man in her quarters and realized, it was more likely that Filius would merely wear out the carpet.

"So, why did Albus think the blasted cup was here?" Filius fumed as he paced.

"I don't know," Pomona said calmly.

He stopped. How could she be so good-natured all the time, he wondered as he turned to look at the rosy cheeked witch again.

"All of your Hufflepuff lore, where does it tell you this cup was last?" Filius said, slightly less impatiently.

"With a descendant of Helga Hufflepuff. Apparently, that woman fell afoul of Riddle and was killed. That is how the cup was transformed into a Horcrux."

"Lovely," Filius said despite the look of patient disapproval he was earning from his partner. "And, again, I ask how or why would it be here?"

"Again, I tell you I don't know... Filius...?"

"Yes."

"Are you angry with me?"

"You know I'm not."

"Then must you act as if you are?"

"I suppose not," he allowed.

"Good."

Somehow during that exchange, she had snuck up on him. She was very close now. She was smiling at him, and her hand had found his. And he liked the way her thumb traced the back of it. He remembered how it had been her touch that had calmed him that night when they had had to safeguard the castle. _Funny_, he mused. _It's not calm I feel right now_.

"This is not a good idea," he protested weakly while his free hand reached around her waist.

"You think I will get attached. You'll break my heart when it all ends badly in 2 weeks' time."

"No. I think there will be no end of Jack Sprat mentions. And Goblin wrestling jokes."

"You are barely shorter than me," she told him, shifting closer as if to measure herself against him.

"Well, now that your hat is off."

"So, let's get your shoes off you," she whispered in his ear.

"Why?"

"I want to see if there is a thorn in your paw given the way you have been acting." She pushed him onto the couch then. And as she bent to join him, her swift hands grabbed the heel of one boot.

"Red socks?" she asked.

"The other one's green," he said, and then wondered why on Earth he had made that admission.

"Really?" she said sounding delighted. And she had that boot off him, too. "Your feet are uncommonly large. For a man of your stature," she added.

"It's not true, Temptress. Not true. So you can just leave off, if that is all you are after," he told the woman stroking his feet.

"What's not true, Love?" she answered coyly.

"Goblins and those of us who are bit Goblin. We are not endowed directly in proportion to the size of our feet." His mustache twitched then and she did not know if she had found a particularly ticklish spot or if he was merely wrestling with the rest of his disclosure.

She pulled the green sock off and began to massage his toes. She relented when his groaning was clearly impairing his thought process. "Go on," she encouraged. "You were enlightening me about Goblin... feet. Not all is as it seems?"

"Not... ah," he sighed as he lost the other sock. "Directly proportional," he told her. "Just... _**mostly**_ proportional."

"You wicked, wicked tease," Sprout told him. "You know, I am a woman of science. Dedicated to discovery. Do you mean for me to put this to the test?"

He pulled his feet from her lap then, leaving her stunned and silent. He righted himself quickly and began to crawl on his knees toward her on the couch. He hovered over her with a crooked smile, looking not at all like the bitter little man who had stormed into this room an hour earlier. "Speaking of proportions. I have often wondered. Is one of these," he asked as he leaned closer to kiss first the top of her left breast and then her right, "bigger than the other?"

"How long have you looked at me and wondered, I might ask," she said feigning a sense of impropriety.

His fingers cleared three buttons down her bodice while they shared a smile. "Oh, I've obviously seen you for years. Admired _**these**_ for a long time. But I am looking forward to a new appreciation of them. To seeing them... differently." He eased and nudged her in between kisses then, so she was reclined beneath him on the couch. His wand Charmed her bra from her. "I want to... find out if there is a badger tattoo somewhere in here. I want to know what happens when I lie you down in your bed and..."

He froze then.

"You've stopped, Filius," she said to the suddenly still man. "And you are scaring me. Have you had a stroke? Stick out your tongue."

"The cup may not be the same size as it was or perhaps it is not the same shape... or..."

She groaned with the realization that Ravenclaw men had brains that interfered in the business of other body organs... like HER body organs.

"The size and shape wouldn't change radically - that shouldn't be possible with a Horcrux, well perhaps beyond a bit of _**distortion**_," she said, her mind unwillingly going to the discarded bra on the back of the couch and the distortion it usually prevented.

"But the orientation and some of its outward appearance, Pomona? I have checked every collection of tin, metal, gold and brass here in the castle. And I am telling you, now I think I have seen it. The same basic shape, but the orientation? The association? Something was all wrong. I can't remember where it was though."

"He would delight in that," she said. "That devil Riddle. Hiding it in plain sight here in the castle. Now, lie down and think, Filius."

"I'd best do that on my feet," he said as he began to pace behind the couch.

"Suit yourself," she grumbled as she worked to button herself up now without the aid of her bra. She threw Filius his socks.

"Ah Ha! Upside down," he yelled sounding pleased, as he began to hunt for his boots under the furniture.

/ / /

Severus dropped to one knee and held the small child to his chest. The boy was quiet for now. _Sleeping_, Severus thought.

Severus said nothing as he mentally assessed the room they were in at Malfoy's manor. He just knelt and waited, his head bowed, his senses bristling. He could hear the press of Death Eaters coming as close as they dared. Above everything else, he registered every thud his decrepit little heart was making on its try to escape his chest. And in that moment he still had. With effort. With slow, metered breaths. He mastered what he felt. He told himself to forget who or what he held. Reminded himself that emotion would not see him through this.

Voldemort seemed to be enjoying the rising pulse of excitement in the room, Severus decided. And he would begin as it suited him.

"The boy is healthy, Severus?" the Dark Lord finally called out.

"Yes, My Lord. Strong. A worthy next generation."

"Blood, Severus. I'll need his blood and yours."

Malfoy appeared at his side then to motion him up to the cauldron that lay in front of Voldemort. "His heel, Snape," Malfoy hissed and he handed Severus the handle of a knife. Severus lay the boy over his arm and exposed his foot. He pricked the boy then and reflexively winced at the quick scream it provoked in the child. He dripped that blood into the mixture before him. Awkwardly then, he balanced the baby, so that he could slice his own hand.

As he watched his blood roll from the knife's edge and into the cauldron, he saw the color to the vapors change. But the Dark Lord was performing no ritual or test that Severus was aware of, so he could not even guess what the colors would 'reveal' to their leader.

He presented the knife to Voldemort and then backed away.

The Dark Lord's breathing was audible as he waved his wand over the cauldron. Despite the child's whimpering, Severus held him as if frozen. Malfoy stepped the few paces to him while also keeping his eyes on their master. "Pick the child UP!" he growled. Severus looked at him askance wondering what he could mean as he WAS holding the child. "Like this," Malfoy hissed again and he raised the child so his head was higher on Severus' arm. And Severus damned the man for being right, but the boy did quiet when he held him higher, snug against his shoulder.

"Do you see?" the Dark Lord asked as he now indicated the change to the clouds of vapor. "The boy is _**easily**_ as pure as a half blood. That proves that eugenics is a viable course to follow. Results do not lie AND it proves that Granger could not be as strong a witch as she is if she were Muggle born. Obviously a lie. A lie. Her parents are likely squibs or just poor practitioners." The near-man halted then, obviously stopped by his thoughts.

"No! I see it now!" he declared. He paced then before pulling the knife. He pricked his own finger and let a drop of blood fall into the vat. He would see what he wanted to, Severus knew. And he held his breathe waiting for the next proclamation.

Nodding, Voldemort continued, "Her parentage has been a lie brought forward by Dumbledore. He created her from seed he stole from _**me**_ ... when I was a student there. Jealous of my power and ability already, he thought he could use her to defeat me. He presented her as Muggle born. Why? To convince the Wizarding world Mudbloods were capable of achievements to rival our own. But she knew where she belonged. And that is why, instinctively, she returned to our side."

The room was silent, stunned by the flurry of supposition they had been asked to accept as fact. Many of the occupants wore worried looks they could not conceal. The Dark Lord's rants had made less and less sense as of late. He had started going to long lengths to satisfy his pet theories. And he was easily capable of rewriting and revising what he did not like about reality. But this was perhaps the most radical thing they had been asked to believe.

"Primitivus," Voldemort yelled as he lay a hand to the back of the baby's head. "He is our 'first formed,' stolen back from Dumbledore. 'Alexius', my 'follower' and our help. Primitivus Alexius," he said then as if bestowing the name formally on the child. "Granger can continue to nurse him, but in due time his place will be here with me," he told Severus. "You see? Dumbledore's lies are revealed. They are turned on him. Granger was his creation. But she came to me. And she has borne us this new help!"

The room was silent with the fear that this man was mad. Had the tortures he had put his body through for the sake of immortality, robbed him of his mind?

What was their future then, if led by a deathless man who was bereft of a conscience and reasoning?

/ / /

Hermione was still adjusting to Severus' sudden reappearance – even as the man laid her son in her arms.

"He's essentially undamaged," Snape offered.

Severus had labored over what words he would need to say first. 'I'm sorry' being useless and pitiful. The most important thing, he had decided, was that he tell her without delay that the boy... their son... was physically well.

Aberforth looked the infant over quickly while Hermione held him. He too felt a compulsion to reassure himself that everything was fine. To touch the child. To listen for the sounds he was making.

Hermione let out a noise that was part maternal relief and part the anguish she had felt. And something in Severus' chest tightened at the sound.

Aberforth's response to the situation suddenly was disbelief for the man who stood in front of him.

"'Essentially?'..." Aberforth thundered. "'Essentially _**undamaged'**_?" The old Wizard lumbered at Snape then, wheezing more with the emotion than the effort. Severus, for his part, stood and waited for the man to pin him to the wall. He let the smaller man empty his hurt and his worry into his chest and the armor there.

The innkeeper gave Severus one last shake and registered how limp the man had gone. The younger man's eyes were cast downward. But they were on Hermione and the baby, Aberforth saw. The potion master's body seemed to merely hang there, weak and drained.

Could a man like Severus Snape be even more beaten than he and life had conspired together to provide?

Aberforth let go of the man and moved away. The answer plain in the shell that leaned there beside the door.

Severus took one silent step for the door now. Instinctively, Hermione must have sensed it, this want of escape.

"I'm sorry," he said as soon as their eyes met and held. And he damned himself for saying the words he had told himself were worthless.

"Aberforth, I need to talk to Severus," Hermione said as she continued to look at only the younger man. "Alone, please."

"I'll go as far as the landing outside. Not an inch further," the old Wizard told Severus more than her.

Once the door closed on Aberforth, Hermione could see Severus eye it.

"Don't go," she told him strongly.

"I don't deserve this."

She paused then. Brought up short by what the words really meant. Someone else might think he meant he did not deserve whatever retribution she wanted to mete out. But she knew this man. He meant he did not deserve to be there with them. Did not deserve to have them at all.

"It's my fault, Severus. _**Mine**_. I could blame Albus as well, I suppose. But as frightened as I was when you left with Gundi... I made that happen. I am the one who put all of this in motion _**months**_ ago by agreeing to the Headmaster's plan. And I hate myself for it. So, please. Don't walk out on me now."

"Have you eaten?" They were the oddest words of reconciliation. And they set Hermione to smiling. "Should I ask Aberforth for something? Or merely let him go?" Severus asked. Hermione grinned then. "You may need to talk to him," he continued. "He might not believe me if I tell him you are content to have me stay here."

/

Aberforth left with little convincing. The look to Hermone telling him more than what she said to him on the landing. He kissed the boy one last time on the head and then nodded to the man who stood in the doorway before turning away.

Hermione lay down with the boy in front of her. She pulled him in to nurse and then softly called out to Severus. "Come lie down, Severus."

He hesitated, causing her to worry he might just bolt. She knew not to push, knew he did not feel at all a part of this new group they had suddenly become. She waited quietly. Snugging in to make a show of the space there was for him there at the edge of the bed. She tugged at the covers to open them for him. She did these things all while looking only at Gundi. Her mind hoping that Severus would relent and join them.

Finally, he shucked off his coat and pulled his shirt from his trousers. Sitting on the bed, he then took off his shoes. A smile pulled hard at her lips then, but she worked to keep it to herself. She had been with him long enough to know these were good signs, signs that he would stay and get comfortable, possibly allowing himself to drift off as well.

Gradually, he pulled himself in tighter to her back. He was careful not to disturb the boy as he slipped a hand around Hermione to hold her about the hips. Briefly, he raised his head over Hermione's shoulder to peek at Gundi. The boy's eyes were closed. His sucking coming slower and slower. Severus saw Hermione smile as she gently retrieved her nipple from the sleeping boy. She pulled at her nightgown to cover up. But Severus raised his hand from her hips to expose her again.

It was not an act he meant to be at all sexual, she instinctively knew. Changes just affected him this way, when he let them. He would want to see and catalogue these transformations to her body that mirrored the ones in their lives. Perhaps he would take the moment to ask himself what this all meant.

Not that she cared if he bothered with those mental calculations or not. She was just relieved beyond measure to have them both here with her.

That man she so relied on.

And their boy.

###

He couldn't sleep. Unyielding thoughts pestered him. He saw it all again - how he had been there before the Dark Lord, cradling a child. _**His**_ child. Yes, he was nearly emotionally crippled, whether through design or habit or necessity. But he was not so unfeeling that he had been unaffected by that trip. At no time had he managed to successfully pretend that he merely held a sack of sugar, though the weight was near enough the same.

At no time had he even been able to consider that he merely held some anonymous child.

And now, with the danger passed and the three of them curled together here, he could not help but perceive the horrible parallel between his night and the night Lily had died. She had stood before the Dark Lord and lost. Lost nearly everything. Her life, just not the life of her child.

But tonight, somehow fate had delivered him. Intact, but ever undeserving. So that he could return to this bed. To a woman who loved him far too well. To a child who seemed overly perfect...

... and to the memory of a dead crush?

It wasn't fate so much as his sick psyche, he knew. That is what brought Lily to mind yet again. And while he could hurt for her, he found he didn't feel the freshness to the wound.

That was then. This... this strangeness... was now. For once, he could perceive the difference between the two.

There is no pride lost in staying to that which hurts the least, is there? And this present reality, his moments with this woman and their child? While strange, it was good. What would compel a man to push away the best parts of his life? What, indeed, had compelled him?

But that was then. And now?

He brushed his finger tip across the boy's fist. Once, then twice. And even in his sleep, Gundi responded. His hand unclenched. Severus managed to sneak his finger in there, before the grasp closed again.

A foolish man might believe the boy was holding on to him. The world was full of that type of self deception. For every person who understood reality, there was a busload who giddily clung to delusion.

But as the sensation of the boy's hand on him became all he knew, he wondered _**why**_ would it be considered sane to push away the fantasy when there was so little good to be found.

His rational mind told him it was because _**that**_ had kept him alive thus far. The detachment. That will to avoid distraction. All of that had kept Albus Dumbledore's man focused on the end game. So, yes. He knew the answer.

But he would keep his finger in that boy's grasp anyway.

_You. You and your mother, are the last things I willingly stake my life on. The rest of what I have to do... Everything else merely lays claim to me. This... what I can muster... I will give you._

Those words made a little more sense now.

/

* * *

**_A/N:_**

**_Completely labored over the idea of bringing Lily into this. To me she is potentially an emotional can of worms that is better left un opened. But the scene with Voldemort did scream with parallels. So, here she is. I wrote the scene two different ways and went with the one where he internalizes the dialogue rather than unburdening himself on Hermione._**

**_Health Note: Asking someone to stick out his tongue is a method for diagnosing stroke. And they say FanFiction is unedifying._**


	53. Chapter 53

**_Thanks for sticking with this story, everyone. It has been a hellish month here. A string of horrid luck compounded by the class from hell._**

* * *

Hagrid followed Professors Flitwick and Sprout as they wound through the cold, dim corridors in the underground section of the castle. His job, he knew was to wield the sword as necessary, to destroy the Horcrux Filius was sure he could find.

They were in a small room now that was full of what seemed to be the kitchen's cast offs. And that room led to another and another that were similar. All were dim, all full of platters and cups and candle sticks, trophies and metal curiosities that begged a description. "It's in here," Filius insisted. "Somewhere." He dropped Pomona's hand then so that he could spin in the center of the room. He was scanning the walls and floor hoping something would spark his memory. "We'll need more light," he said finally, as he realized that their wands would not do enough to help them work through all the bric-a-brac.

Filius lit the nearest candle at hand, and Hagrid and Pomona worked to follow suit, each walking for the various corners. Each lighting the candles they found. Gradually, there was more and more light about them.

"Filius!" Madam Sprout yelled suddenly. Her voice was uncharacteristically shrill. Filius turned to find her. She swallowed hard before she spoke again, "I found it. It must be the Horcrux. It's all cold and wrong and ..."

Filus suddenly understood what was happening. The Horcrux wasn't something in the room behind her. Or something she had seen along the wall. It was the small candle she was holding. Covered in wax. Upside down. The holder's markings were obliterated. It's jewels were gone and the handles were flattened against the thing. The cup was nearly unrecognizable, and so distinctly different looking that Pomona had picked it up thinking only of adding some light to the room.

Pomona took a deep breath then and turned to look at the near giant of a man beside Filius. "Rubeus? Bring the sword."

Flitwick began to rush to her, but she warned him off. "I can't let go of it, Filius. It has me. But I trust Rubeus. Go on," she then prompted the large man, giving him a brave smile.

Hagrid plainly winced at the idea of trying to separate the cup from her hand, of trying to destroy the Horcrux without injuring her.

"Just a minute, my boy," Flitwick insisted. "Pomona, Love. Hold your hands out wide. Just like this." Filius mimed the motion for her. And she did it for him, still managing a smile. "You're not afraid, Pomona," he told her.

"No, of course not," she said. But there was a tremble to her words.

"Open your hands now. Let go of it. No. Don't look at it." And she stood there now with her eyes locked on Filius' and her palms open. But the cup persisted in clinging to her hand.

"Pomona," he whispered almost hoarsely. "Close your eyes." He wasted no time then. He strode for her with confidence and purpose. And standing on his toes, he wrapped his arms around the woman and kissed her hard. Kissed her breathless. His hands pulled at her as he kissed her, and all of it seemed to demand that she focus all her attention on him. And on what he felt for her.

It was the cup's clatter to the ground that broke them apart. Hagrid didn't waste a second then. He lunged forward and shattered the thing. Striking it with an over hand smash from Beowulf's sword. There was a quick splattering a sparks, a rush of air that pushed at Pomona's long skirt and extinguished half of their candles.

"The opposite of death and hate..." Filius started.

"Would be life and love," Pomona finished for him.

"Of that I'm sure," the small man answered before he kissed her again.

The game keeper's nervous swallow was audible. "It's good, innit though, that _**I**_ didn't pick up the thing? I mean... no offense meant, Professor Flitwick," Hagrid told him with a blush. "But..."

/ / / / /

Hermione walked the floor trying to console Gundi, to soothe him or burp him. Anything to get him to relent. But the crying just kept on. Severus would be out the door in another minute. His buttons were already done. This was his last full breath before he would be gone.

She wanted to ask a thousand things. _Does the Mark hurt more the longer you linger here? Do you know why he has called you? _ She bit her lip instead and kept up the pacing, the steady rhythm of her feet seeming to be the thing that most comforted the baby.

Severus was ready, she saw. Paused expectantly. "I know," she said as she continued to shift her weight to appease Gundi. "I'll be good. I'll stay out of trouble."

He came close enough then to lay a hand to her arm. And it traveled to the boy, "Shh!" he tried in his crowd-taming tone. Hermione laughed a touch then to see Gundi open his eyes wider and ease his cries to a whimper. "That won't last," Severus assessed. "I'd best leave before he turns to crying again." It might have been a joke. A desperate try, given the timing. The corner of his lip raised just a touch. And she saw something in his eyes that spoke to her.

"A hug," she told him firmly. "We'll need a hug." He reached around her a tad formally then and did not exclude his touch from the boy. "And a kiss for me. Please."

It was a good kiss. Full of want and promise, and an understanding that was measured in something more meaningful than months.

"Thank you," he whispered then in lieu of good bye. And he swept out.

/ / / /

Another Horcrux had fallen. Voldemort could feel it. Was it Potter who had managed it, the Dark Lord wondered. No matter. Truly it was no matter. Potter would be dealt with, as would they all. Now was the time to strike the castle. Take it and finish off the pompous _He-Who-Lived,_ the Order and this ridiculous resistance.

/ / / /

The following afternoon, the group of attackers Apparated to the point closest to the castle that the wards allowed. It was exactly as Thomas, Minerva and Alastor had anticipated. The Death Eaters began their march for the castle door at a somewhat random pace. They bunched up. The bravest, or perhaps merely the most fool hearty, were in front.

As a group they seemed distinctly unworried. But then they were certain they were only facing children and effete academicians. These Death Eaters were plainly untested and untrained. Those at the front were bristling, eager for the easy glory. And the more timid ones behind were happy to be safe at the rear...Safe, they believed, because they were certain the only threat would come at them from the castle.

But they were wrong. All of them were distinctly wrong about what to expect that day.

The path toward the castle doors, that path between the stone walls, guided the attackers in to an ambush zone. And there were claymore mines to close it off. Make it merciless. Final.

Minerva was not at all at ease with this. These people would be struck down without warning. Struck down by what they did not see. Was it right? Was it fair? She paced nervously, watching the grainy image on the Foe Glass that Moody had provided.

"I don't see Malfoy or any one else senior amongst them. This will only be the first group. Voldemort's recent converts. The expendables," Alastor told her with distaste as he squinted into the glass. "We are being tested. And so are they."

"Timing is everything now," Thomas warned. "The claymores only work once. They won't take care of the whole force either. At 50 meters there is a 30% hit rate. Plus, we'll have to save some for when we have the main group trapped there. But if we need to use the ones placed..."

Minerva was already turning away from Thomas and his talk of using the mines.

"I know you don't like this plan, Professor," Ellie told the tall, stern-looking witch. "But we need to be prepared for the second stage. Once the claymores are gone, the enemy may be able to get to the castle walls. And the best thing then is to have them come through. We want to let it happen at the main doors where we are ready for them. If they make head way anywhere else, we need to give way there. We have fire teams ready to deal with them in the entrance way."

"Fire teams? They're students!" Minerva objected.

"Of age," Alastor said. "All of them. And staff. Volunteers. No one was made to stay, Minerva. Dozens have left already." Those around them could hear in his voice how much he wanted to protect this woman from all of these decisions. But this was hers to do.

They looked at the Foe Glass again. "It's about 30 of them now. Two groups. Moving forward and firing at the windows," Alastor said with practiced calm.

"Have the teams in the parapets and safe tower positions fire on them. Those people are at the least risk of being hurt," Minerva offered up as she paced.

"We'll need more. If we don't pin them down good, they'll be free to get to the doors before we know it... and they'll work at them," Alasor told her.

"Alright, Alastor. Alright!" she said with frustration. "The mounted teams. Send them, too." Putting those extra people ... _**her pupils**_ in danger obviously pained her. They were just Quidditch players a few weeks ago. Young and over confident. Why was it all right to call them 'mounted teams' suddenly?

Ellie made to leave. She would help coordinate the attack from the parapets and windows. Thomas picked up his satchel and moved to join her. Thomas, they all knew, would carry word to Madam Hooch and her teams of flyers.

"Please," Minerva called out without turning. "Watch out for Severus. We have no idea where he is. He's come too far to be cut down by one of us now."

/ / / /

Hermione had seen the smoke from her window. This was nothing ordinary, she knew. She put Gundi in a sling and packed a small bag of things for him before going to look for Aberforth. She found him surrounded by younger students in a basement room of the inn. "What is this? What's happening" she asked as the children filed past her and out the door.

"A tunnel," Aberforth replied absently, as he encouraged the stragglers to exit faster. "Leads to Hogwarts. The Headmistress is sending the underage students out this way. And the Order is sending in folks through here. Well, what folks they have."

"They are being attacked then!"

Aberforth only nodded.

"Whose been through?" Hermione asked intently.

"Weasleys. All of them. And Kingsley. A few others."

/ / / /

It was an hour later now. Beowulf's sword in one hand, Hagrid was set on the task the Headmistress had given him. He was in charge of dragging the Death Eaters off, the stunned and the injured and the dead from around the castle. The prisoners he was turning over to Firenze for safe keeping in the Forbidden Forest. The dead he laid out respectfully behind his cabin.

There is a new group here now. More inky robes and masks and drawn wands. More trouble. He knows he can't let anyone sneak past him. He can't let anyone get back to the Dark Lord with news on this battle. He tests his grip and crouches awkwardly behind the wall.

Once everyone is in the area where they cannot Apparate out, all hell will break loose. The blast will come from another of those Muggle weapons. He's been through this once now. He knows what to expect. The noise. The burst of shrapnel. There will be dirt and rocks thrown about. And screaming from those that can still scream. A team of students with Alastor Moody directing them will appear from the castle to help deal with anyone who still has some fight left in them.

But it's Hagrid who will need to keep the Death Eaters, well those that were still alive, from getting back to Voldemort from this end. He has to keep everyone in that zone where they can't Apparate out. Somehow.

He'd been lucky so far, he knew. He'd only had two curses directed at him, and he'd been able to use the sword to deflect them. Those Wizards weren't much to speak of though. Even he doesn't feel arrogant thinking that. You-Know-Who had obviously sent some nearly unwilling, poor souls out here to try to take the castle the first go around. Most of the injured seemed a bit relieved when he stripped them of their wands and herded them away. Rubeus had almost felt bad about knocking that disoriented, recalcitrant one on the head so he could drag him off. Almost.

/ / / /

At the Dark Lord's bidding, Severus arrived on the grounds of Hogwarts with the second wave. The spy was meant to check on the progress of the first attackers and report back. He separated himself from the group, in no mind to receive a stunning from the wild aimed students at the windows.

The hair on his neck was standing up. There was no sign of any _live_ members of the first team of Death Eaters. There were a few bodies in the grass that he could make out though.

_Are the rest in the castle already,_ he was forced to wonder with a sickening drop to his stomach. He watched the members of Voldemort's second team work forward. And then turned his attention to the lines in the grass at his feet. He could swear those were... drag marks. Before he dared turn his back on the castle to get a better look, he dropped to one knee behind a bit of wall.

Severus was eying the forest with suspicion when he sensed someone behind him. He turned too late and was knocked flat by Alastor's thick shoulder.

"Damn it, Moody! What are you doing out here?" He wondered if Mad Eye had gone well and truly mad with the man grinning at him like a nutter.

While he waited for his answer, Severus pushed himself along the ground to lie along the wall. It was getting dark now, still he worried that they would be seen and targeted by either side. A chuckling Alastor crawled after him.

"We're fine here," Moody said. But still he grabbed Severus by the front and tugged him closer to himself and the cover of the wall. "My coat. A gift from Queen Maeve herself..."

"You've lost your mind, Moody. And I mean that. Completely. You've had the coat 15 years, if you've had it a day."

"Fine. Don't believe me. Point is. I feel safe enough to lie out here by the wall a minute when I have this coat on."

"What the hell is going on here?" Severus asked. "Where's the first set of Death Eaters?"

"Some place they won't make any trouble," and the man had the audacity to wink. "We can't hope to lure _**him**_ here until the castle doors are open. Right? So, Phase Two starts inside where none of the Death Eaters will see it until too late. You need to go back to You Know Who and let him think the Death Eaters have made it into the castle... that this is the time for him to come finish things here. But for God's sake, Severus. Stay as far away from him as you can. There's a killing zone from the wall here... to the front door.

"The bodies," Severus said as he cast his eyes in that direction.

Moody nodded, understanding what the younger man was implying. "Dirty work that is. But we are moving the dead Death Eaters out of sight... but leaving our dead there for Voldemort to see."

Moody peeked over the wall then and saw that the group had made it to within the range of the mines.

"Head down now, Snape. We have a surprise. But not enough of a surprise to handle the size of that group. So, things are going to get ugly."

Severus did not understand the warning, but when he saw Mad Eye flatten himself along the ground, he followed suit.

Two sharp blasts punctured the air and Alastor wasted no time in pushing himself up from the dirt with his staff. He wanted to get into the thick of things before the dust settled and the enemy regained their wits.

"Give us a 15 minute head start, Snape," he called over his shoulder. "And then off you go. Make it sound good. We want him here. On our terms. Tonight." Snape nodded and watched the man lumber into battle. And there on the far side of the lawn was Rubeus Hagrid standing in the gap that cut off the Death Eaters' escape. He was planted there like he was the last Spartan at Thermopylae.


	54. Chapter 54

**_A/N: Sorry I was AWOL. Was one of those real life things that kept me away. Me. A year long course smooooshed into 8 weeks. Crying children (and that was just the other students in the lab). And the resulting disaster that was my neglected house._**

**_We left our heroes and villains in the midst of a battle on the Hogwarts grounds. Hermione is back in the basement of the Hogshead with Aberforth and his tunnel. Moody is on the battlefield with a plan and some Claymores at his disposal. Most everyone else is inside hoping it all works..._**

**_Snape was there and then gone again._**

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

Luna was proving to be the most able of the fliers when it came to targeting projectiles from the back of a broom. Ginny Weasley was an impressive, able second. Madam Hooch was, however, easily the most reckless.

From her vantage point in her office, Minerva worried over all of them and the example the headstrong flying instructor was setting.

It was one of those moments when time seems to hang suspended then. Everyone's gaze flew to the castle at the sound of the great doors being thrust open. A tall, masked Death Eater appeared in the doorway.

"Hurry!" the man yelled.

There was that barest instance of disbelief. And then someone called out, "It's Snape. Holding the doors open, just like he promised."

It was all anyone need say. The able members of Voldemort's second team sprinted for the castle, even as those wounded let out screams of frustration at being left.

Even though Neville knew it was part of the wider plan, he felt sick to watch the first set of Death Eaters push for the doors.

The scene changed then, in an instant. A third team in dark robes began to pop into existence just beyond the wall. Moody growled at the sight and cursed. These reinforcements were coming quick, too quick for him to deal with. The advantage was gone suddenly. Instead of worrying about engaging the remainder of the second group, Moody now knew his biggest concern was getting his outnumbered forces safely out of the way. The best tactic would be to find cover and slow this new group down as best they could. There would be no stopping them though. Not all of them.

Seeing the castle doors open, these latest Death Eaters swelled forward. They couldn't believe their luck. Some cheered as they ran. They were so intent on making it into Hogwarts that they expended little energy in firing at the stranded defense forces that were scrambling for cover. Hagrid, Moody, Longbottom, and ten others were stuck on the castle grounds. From her vantage point in the nearest wall, Ellie knew she couldn't trigger the last set of claymores without risking the defenders. Her sense of helplessness tore at her.

She tried to grasp the scene then as everything seemed to happen at once. A lucky shot from the lead Death Eater disabled a broom and a pair of fliers tangled briefly and went careening toward Hagrid's hut. In response, Madam Hooch prompted the other brooms higher. It was an understandable reaction, but one which took the pressure off the attackers.

Hagrid moved from his spot near the stone wall and ran unbidden after the students who were struggling to control their brooms. He knew what they didn't want to admit. Impact was imminent.

A surprising number of thoughts went through the gamekeeper's head as he raced along the dirt track. He wished he had opted for a soft thatched roof. He hoped the students didn't land on his fire. He wondered if it was too much to hope they would manage to land on his bed ... and spare the crockery. But mostly, he prayed he would be able to heal whatever injuries he was about to encounter.

Ellie counted 20 Death Eaters working for the open doors. Moody and Longbottom were trying to get the Order members and students out of the zone, but it was a horrid mess.

Two students lay dead as a result of this latest assault of Death Eaters. And a brash young Auror whose name Neville could not even remember was killed right beside him. At best, Moody felt he would manage to get his people to withdraw before more were killed. Offensively, his team had become nearly useless. So, he fired and ran, and cajoled his team to do the same.

Finally, Alastor and Neville were pressed up against the castle wall, concealed in some deep bushes. The old Auror's frustrated groan drew Neville's attention back to the front doors of the castle where the latest group of attackers was moving through.

"Five." The graying man said with regret. "I think at best we lowered their numbers by five before they made it to the castle. We've done our friends in there no favors today, Mr. Longbottom."

"What do we do? Do we go help them?"

"We can't," Alastor spat, sounding heart sick. "We don't dare leave our posts. Voldemort hasn't shown yet. There will be more coming."

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

"Snape?" Rodolphus Lestrange demanded with suspicion as the figure moved further into the castle. "Damn it! Who are you? Where is everyone else?" Lestrange shrieked at the lone Death Eater who had been there to greet them.

From behind his disguise, Thomas could see the ugly reality dawn on the man then. Lestrange knew he had been duped. For just a split second Lestrange was frozen by that realization, and then Flitwick and several Ravenclaws began their barrage of curses.

Thomas threw off the mask that was limiting his vision and vaulted away. Lestrange ignored everything else, he was so incensed at being tricked. He fired wild, vehement curses in Thomas' direction. Fierce curses fueled with hatred and the shame of allowing this ambush. When he could not get Thomas, he worked instead on the destruction of the castle's open entrance way. He toppled pillars with his anger and blasted the banisters. His spells set the tall tapestries to burning.

The chaos spurred on the Death Eaters in the entrance hall and seem to paralyze the inexperienced students. Only Flitwick and a few others like Seamus were able to return fire. Flitwick was quick on his feet, and his form was flawless despite the years in retirement. The wizard looked like a man possessed as he moved forward firing without pause.

Thomas eased around on his stomach as Rodolphus continued to blast the corner where he thought the trickster still hid. The former soldier wished he'd had a rifle then instead of the small .45 he'd strapped under his arm. He would lack accuracy. He would need speed instead.

The number of Death Eaters now in the castle was twice what the American had hoped to face. Already small groups of Death Eaters were pushing into corridors. This was fast becoming the defenders' worst case scenario, Thomas mentally lamented. He had wanted to hold them here in the main entrance, but he had not counted on the size of the force that had come through.

And, he was forced to admit, he had not truly known what he was up against. Lestrange's use of fire was so insanely reckless that it was beyond Thomas' imagination. The smoke was likely to incapacitate as many of Lestrange's own troops as it would defenders.

Lestrange leapt onto a bench then hoping it would help him spot his target. But this merely made him one. The American managed three quick, remorseless shots and then rolled away.

"Fiend fire," Filius was yelling now from his spot behind a pillar. "Get out. Get everyone out. Seal this off." But, not surprisingly, the majority of the defenders had pulled back already. They had pulled back or merely fled like the untrained children they were.

A small team of Flitwick's Ravenclaws, however, did have the presence of mind to use a bubble charm that allowed them to breathe even as the more panicked amongst them stumbled blind and gasping.

Filius gave them an approving nod. And he fired ahead of him to provide cover so that they could continue to pull their comrades into the adjacent corridors.

"Thomas, you idiot!" the small wizard yelled.

"Over here. There are two kids just ..." Thomas coughed and pointed. The smoke was a blanket now, wrapping itself around the lanky man.

Flitwick charmed a bubble over the American's head and one over himself and then moved forward to find the two students Thomas had been unwilling to leave. Once breathing better, Thomas moved forward on his hands and knees to find Filius wanding bubbles over the students' heads.

"Which way is out?" Thomas echoed from behind his bubble.

"Down. Down is out." Filius told him.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

Voldemort was waiting – pacing- hoping for just what Severus was preparing to tell him. The attacks had gone well. The doors of the castle were open wide to him. Any resistance now was limited – confined to the few who had not fled the castle.

He howled with savage delight at the news.

Voldemort's last contingent of Death Eaters moved to leave on the Dark Lord's silent motion.

It was just Severus and that near-man in the room of Malfoy's manor then, and Severus turned for the door to follow the others out.

"Not you, Severus." Those were Voldemort's spare and menacing words. A spell rushed through then like a cold wind. It slammed the door closed in front of the potion master, sealing him in. "There can be no mistake," the Dark Lord said. "The child will never be under your influence. I can't allow it. You are too powerful. Too respected among the Death Eaters... and perhaps not quite pure enough. I will brook no rivals."

"My Lord," Snape objected. He backed away. His eyes moving from Voldemort's wand hand to the massive snake that tracked him across the floor.

Both men drew their wands then. And the spells met in a fiery clash of sparks. The master rotated his wand then, as if turning a screw, and Severus felt the intensity of the curse build. He could swear it seemed to consume the air in the room.

With his free hand, Voldemort confidently motioned the snake forward.

Nagini launched itself at Severus, but the spy was ready, turning already. He directed the snake to his shoulder and the armor, and worked to hold the beast there. But the shift in concentration left him open to the curse he had so far deflected.

Snape careened backwards, propelled by the force of Voldemort's spell. He groaned with the impact, but never let up his hold on Nagini.

"You are stronger than you look, Severus," the Dark Lord called out with mock praise. "But still, no match for the two of us." Satisfied that the snake had managed to inflict mortal damage, Voldemort called the beast back. "Enough, my pet," came the dripping voice, as the snake withdrew. Severus stopped trying to regain his feet and sunk to the ground. He made his breathing harsh and shallow. His hand was clamped over his shoulder as he waited.

Voldemort swept in then to loom over him. The snake was wrapped around his shoulders now. The demented man smiled eerily down at Severus, and with a sick patience, he then lifted one boot to place it on Snape's throat.

"Let me... help you along," were the last words Severus heard.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

Remus looked plainly surprised to see Hermione when he rounded the corner at the bottom of the inn's basement steps. Tonks was full of too many other emotions already to register anything new at the sight of the former Head Girl.

As Lupin's eyes shot from Aberforth and then to Hermione, the inn keeper wasted no time to move the discussion along. "She's with us, Lupin. You can trust her. She'll be here with me holding down things on this end."

"On our side then?" the haggard-looking Wizard asked, tensely.

"And Severus', too, in case that is your next question," Hermione answered, making sure to hold his eyes through the statement.

There were a hundred questions in her former professor's face, but she soon saw he had far more to worry about. "'Dora?" he said as a whisper to his wife. He pulled her aside then and put their foreheads together. "You'll stay here with Aberforth... and Hermione. We've agreed, right? You being pregnant... I need you to stay put. Stay safe. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"I don't have to like it," the witch complained as she leaned into her husband.

/ / / / / / / / / / / /

An hour after Remus had made his way through to Hogwarts, there was an explosion that was powerful enough to be felt along the lines of the tunnel. "Not good. Not good at all," Aberforth worried. He peered into the dark hole as if that would tell him something. Pulling back out then he began to pace a bit. He was uncommonly agitated suddenly. Pensive.

"You think something's wrong," Hermione accused.

"I do. I'm worried the other end of this tunnel's gone down. And if that's happened, that means there is fighting IN the castle. That the bastards are deep into the castle. All through it."

"What are you going to do?" Dora asked.

The old man eyed the entrance to the tunnel and then looked back to the two women and the boy. "I have to check it out. If the tunnel's closed, I'll be back. If it's open, well... The important part is that you two stay here. Take care of each other. Of the baby. Let the Ministry know if anything... worse happens. There's a room under this," he told them then. He pulled back a rug and then put his hand on a stone in the floor.

"There's food. Water. Everything. You can sit out things a whole week down there. Safe."

He grabbed them both by the arm, almost frantically, and brought their hands down to the stone. Once he had released them, he told them, "It's keyed to you too now."

He turned and moved quickly for the tunnel without another word of parting.

/

**A/N: Thanks so much for reading... Sniff. **


	55. Chapter 55

_**A/N:** So, Death Eaters are running amuck in the halls of Hogwarts... at least those who escaped the entrance way fire, and the fury of Filius Flitwick. Thomas and Filius survive, I assure you, through the quick thinking of the Charms professor. And our dashing American hero is responsible for killing LeStrange and bringing that lunatic's rage to an end. _

_Severus was feeling quite poorly, and was decidedly unwell looking when last I wrote. But then that is to be expected with a giant snake having tried to ravish him and a mad man standing on his throat._

_And Remus and Aberforth have asked Tonks and Hermione to behave and stay out of the fighting... which just about assures us that they won't. _

_The Horcruxes are all taken care of, unless you count Nagini and, of course, our friend Harry. Which I do. :)_

* * *

The few defenders in the west corridor off the Great Hall faced a larger force, but they were holding their own. And the defenders were, to a man, Weasleys.

Three Death Eaters had fallen either dead or unconscious ahead of them. Two more seemed to have run for it. But still Arthur, Ron, and the twins were out numbered.

The corridor was a shambles. Stone from the walls and ceiling littered the floor, and the sides faced off from behind whatever they could find. They used abandoned desks, the shelter of a door way, or the larger pieces of rubble.

Arthur fired again and again, barely pausing. He was exhausted, but he wouldn't stop. He needed to make those Death Eaters keep their heads down. He needed to make it impossible for them to get off any curses...

...because he had made this mistake.

Arthur Weasley realized the mistake too late. He never should have been there with his boys. They were working too hard to protect him. And he was nothing short of frenzied over the prospect that any lapse from him could get his children hurt.

The fatigue got to him eventually. He groaned as his arm got too heavy to lift and he stumbled a step to the left.

That was when someone on the other side managed a well aimed curse that felled him.

Ron was the first one to get to his dad. Arthur was unconscious, Ron could tell. But alive. The younger wizard could feel his brain move lurchingly like a broken freight train over the task of assessing his father. Alive, yes. But bleeding, he now saw, from a cutting curse. And badly.

He had never seen so much blood, Ron realized. Panic grabbed him for a moment. "Get him to the infirmary," came George's shouted order.

Despite everything, it was resentment Ron felt suddenly at the sound of his brother's voice. _How was it he was taking orders still? God, he hated it. Why didn't one of them take their father? They were just treating him like a baby still. They wanted him out of the way. They didn't trust him._

Fred and George were pushing recklessly forward, determined to make the attackers back off, to take the fire off their wounded father.

"Go, Ron!" Fred screamed fiercely.

But Ron seemed frozen there next to his father.

"Damn you, Ron! Do it!" George hollered without even looking back.

The twins had managed it then, they had pushed the Death Eaters back to the point where two corridors intersected. Once there, the black clad Wizards decided their best option was escape down the side hall way.

George and Fred let out a combined battle cry that would have frightened the ghost of Salazar himself and took off after them.

Ron spat out an oath and levitated his father. He worked in the opposite direction toward Madam Pomfrey's ward then. It was a struggle at first. Finally, he calmed his emotions well enough that he could manage the continuous concentration it required to tow his father's floating form.

...

Once Poppy was able to assure Ron that his father would recover, the younger man wasted no time. In his eagerness to be a part of the larger fight, he turned for the exit.

Pomfrey called out to his back in a tone which would not be ignored. "Don't go, Mr. Weasley."

"I've got to. There's nothing to do here," he spat. He was mad and obviously almost frantic for a fight.

"They've shot in 6 of my windows," the Matron said calmly as she moved from one patient to another. "They are only a hallway away."

Ron groaned. He knew he couldn't leave the matron there with only Madam Sprout to help her. But he damned his brothers for doing this to him. He was sure he would miss the crux of the action and that there was more important work to be done elsewhere. Harry would be in the thick of it and where would he be? Here. With the bandage winders.

Ron wanted to say, _"I'll send someone to help you,"_ and then leave. Because surely a Fifth Year Hufflepuff could handle what little threat he perceived there to be here. Still, he could smell the smoke coming from the hallway. And he could hear the skirmishes getting closer. This was not the battle he would have chosen, but the one he would have to fight. For now.

/ / /

Hermione would have sworn they had been in that room hours since Aberforth had left. The conversation had been sparse. Hermione watched as Gundi slept in a drawer by the side of the room. Tonks paced a bit, a nervous hand to her belly. Finally, the questions Hermione knew had to come, came.

"You're with Snape then?"

"Yes," Hermione answered levelly, not even taking her eyes off the baby.

"I mean," Tonks said a little awkwardly, "you're _with _ him ... like..."

"Completely."

Tonks shook her head, paced a bit more. She stopped then. "We've got a lot of other things to worry about, I know. But I want to make sure, Hermione... I need to know that you're with him because you want to be. I want to know that he didn't..."

Hermione smiled then. Often a person's overprotectiveness bothered her. But not with Nymphadora. It was endearing in her, because Hermione knew it wasn't judgmental. It was all based solely on how much the woman cared about someone.

"It was never his idea," Hermione assured the slightly older witch. "We were thrown together, and at some point, I just realized I loved him. "

"So you wore him down?" Tonks asked with a small but understanding laugh.

"Well, he basically told me I was insane for loving him. But we got to the point where he would stay in the same room when I told him. I'm not sure that counts as wearing him down does it?"

"Oh, it sounds slightly familiar," Tonks smirked.

... ... ...

Soon after, the women began to hear noises coming from the tunnel. It was the sounds of coughing and shuffling. "Aberforth," Hermione breathed as she pushed up from the floor. But the Auror grabbed her.

"Not necessarily," Tonks warned as she pulled her wand and motioned for Hermione to pick up Gundi and stand out of the way.

It was a few slow moving students, seeming wounded or shell shocked, who started coming through the tunnel.

"Is Voldemort there yet?" Tonks said emphatically. A Hufflepuff girl in torn clothing winced at the mention, but recovered enough to shake her head. "One group, maybe two got into the castle. But _**he**_ is waiting. That's the worst of it. They know he is coming. But he hasn't come yet."

"Has anyone seen Professor Snape?" Hermione asked.

A tall boy with a bandage over his left eye spoke up then, "I was on the grounds when Professor Snape showed up. Mad Eye could have killed him. But he didn't. That's all I know."

"He didn't kill him because he is on our side, James," an older Ravenclaw girl said with frustration.

"Who can keep track?" James wondered as he kept moving forward. And that was the problem, Hermione knew. Minerva and the leadership in the castle were no doubt trying to protect Severus by getting the word out that he was loyal. But there was no guarantee everyone would get or even believe that message.

The line of students passed through the room and up the stairs without prompting, obviously under orders from someone.

"I'm going," Hermione suddenly announced. Her decision made, she grabbed the satchel and then put Gundi in his sling. "There's no beating Voldemort until Harry is freed from the Horcrux," Hermione explained. "And I don't think anyone else has come up with a way to do that, have they?"

Tonks just shook her head. "And you can do that?"

"I don't really know. But I have a few ideas. And we are quite obviously out of time."

/ / / / / /

The inside of Hogwarts was quiet, smokey and hot. Hermione threaded the corridors wondering if she would see Snape and at the same time knowing it was foolish to think it. She nodded to each person who met her eyes. The students scattered in the hallways looked too tired to ask what she was possibly doing there. They were too beleaguered to worry about her or wonder about the confused things they had heard about her. It helped, Hermione was sure, that she was walking side by side with Tonks – a person whose loyalty had never been called into question.

"You are on our side then?" one fifth year blurted out finally.

"Gah, you are daft then," Tonks said before Hermione could answer. "Of course she is. Always was."

Finally, she saw Bill there by a wall with Fleur, and Hermione stopped to talk with them.

Fleur stood quickly to take Nymphadora's hands in an action that warned the pregnant witch that there was bad news. "He is in the infirmary," Fleur said as gently as she could. There was no need to explain who she meant. "Do you want me to go with you?"

"No. No," Tonks said in rushed fashion. The Auror was shaking her head and already moving for the necessary corridor.

"It's a lull, I think," Bill said after sadly watching Tonks round the corner. "There have been two waves. We've taken care of both... But we haven't seen Voldemort yet. So, the worst is yet to come. But, God, what are you doing here? And with the baby!" he said sounding more sad than angry.

"I've got to find Harry. And I think Professor Flitwick would be the best one to help me. And Thomas. That American fellow, if you've seen him."

Bill told her, "If there is anyone you need to see, I'll find them for you. And we will be your body guards while we manage it."

"Absolument," Fleur said.

"And then..." Bill continued, "we get you and the baby out of here."

Bill and Fleur told her as much as they could in hurried fashion as they walked the corridors for the Great Hall. "There was fiend fire in the entrance way," the French woman explained to Hermione. "But that died out. It must have been 40 attackers what came through."

"Some of them got all through the castle," Bill said with a sad nod. "But we've... well, we think we have found them all. Taken them prisoner. Although many died."

"And on our side?"

"Too many, Hermione. But we've been lucky, too. My parents were both wounded... but word is they'll be alright. The professors have done everything they could to protect the students and so many of the worst injuries and, well, the deaths have been amongst the staff."

Hermione looked scared. Her face pale white while she waited for this news.

"Remus was found pinned under a wall," Bill told her solemnly. "Professor Vector is ... dead. So, is Professor Sinistra. And Pince was badly hexed."

"Hagrid?" she asked.

Bill just shook his head. "I don't know. He had been outside on the grounds with Moody, but I haven't seen him or heard anything."

"The Americans?" Hermione asked cautiously.

"I heard the one killed LeStrange in the last wave when there was a huge battle in the entrance way. He nearly died from all the smoke. Flitwick got him out through a passageway in the floor that led to the dungeons though." Bill smiled then. "The Professor said all the searching he had to do for the cup paid off. He knows a lot more of the castles secrets now." The smile was gone then, just as quickly. "We lost at least 5 students in that attack though, Hermione. Some outside the main entrance and some inside."

/ / / / / / /

Minerva had left her command post in her office when the intruders had come into Hogwarts. She had joined the active defense of the castle then. She was walking out of the Great Hall with her cheeks flaming and her hair badly astray. She pulled up short then at the sight of the former Head Girl with her infant.

"Hermione, I want you and that baby out of this castle now!" she nearly growled. "Are you insane?"

Hermione and Bill rapidly began trying to explain that Hermione hoped to try ridding Harry of the Horcrux. As people Minerva needed to address walked by, she would stop Hermione's speech with a hand to her shoulder and holler out her orders over the shorter woman's head.

"But some place safe," Minerva insisted, turning her attention back to Hermione. "Not here! Aberforth told me you were..."

"If I can find Harry, we can do this back at the Hog's Head. The tunnel is fine. I'll need Professor Flitwick. And Thomas..." Hermione started.

"Yes, the Hogshead will be safer," the Headmistress said tersely with a nod. "Harry is in the Great Hall, as are the other two you are looking for..."

They all instinctively flattened themselves against the wall tapestries then at the sound of running on the castle's stone floors and the chorus of shouts that came to them then. Minerva watched the group round the corner and stream by her for the front entrance. At the tail end there was Alastor galumping forward with a fierce look of purpose on his face. Minerva deftly reached out and stopped the man by taking hold of a fistful of his jacket.

"Talk to me, Alastor."

"Another group has been spotted," he explained quickly. "They are fanning out in front of the castle... and _**waiting**_ from what I have heard. I can only assume one thing," he said as he moved to pull away from the woman and follow the defensive force he was sending to the guard the entrances.

"They are waiting... on HIM to join them. It's now then? Really now?" she finished in a whisper as she watched Mad Eye move away.

"Bill," Minerva ordered briskly. "Get Mr. Potter and Professor Flitwick and meet Fleur and Hermione at the entrance to the tunnel." She turned to Hermione then. "Out of here, this instance, Hermione! Do you understand?"

/ / / / / / / / / / /

Bill, Harry, Thomas, and Flitwick met up with Fleur and Hermione and the baby at an intersection of two corridors.

Harry considered Hermione and the baby uneasily, as Thomas walked up to greet her. For Harry, nothing, nothing at all, came to mind to say. It all seemed too surreal to see his former friend cradling a baby. What was most likely Snape's baby.

"Why are you still here?" Filius asked Fleur peevishly.

"I don't like it," Fleur answered. "There were noises. And I smell smoke. It wasn't there a minute ago."

They heard an explosion then and turned, wands drawn, to see Luna near flying up a stairway with a column of smoke behind her as if in pursuit.

Miss Lovegood's eyes had gone wider than normal and her usual gentle smile was fleeting. "They've gotten the dungeon door open! Not sure how many are behind me. We should move," she insisted. "Now."

"Right!" Filus said as his eyes darted around looking for an option now that the way to the tunnel was cut off.

"The Headmaster's office!" Harry yelled, finding his voice for the first time since seeing Hermione. With a bound, he led the way to the staircase up to the next floor.

/ / /

**a/n: Thanks for reading, everyone. And I love hearing what you think of this madness! **


	56. Chapter 56

_**A/N: Hermoine and her group of Horcrux removal specialists are enroute to Dumbledore's office with Luna, Bill, and Fleur in tow. Moody has intelligence that tells him that a force of Death Eaters is once again arrayed outside the castle – this group, however appears to be waiting for their Lord. Snape -who is still MIA after the snake snuggle and neck dance – had told Voldemort and the gathered Death Eaters that the castle lay open and the resistance was sparse. So, the black clad ones are feeling pretty cocky right now.**_

_**Hooch figures in this chapter, so there is offensive language. :) And snark. She makes reference to her last meeting with Harry should anyone remember that fun event in the marsh. :)  
**_

**Thanks for reading everyone. and especially for the reviews (which make my day). I have been writing this under extreme distractions. So, I hope it passes muster. Many thanks to Selmak for the read through. I have come up with my own fix on the whole 'there's a Horcrux in Harry's head' thing. I didn't care for the one in the book.  
**

_**

* * *

**_

Luna told the group she was going to warn the staff in the Great Hall that Death Eaters had gotten through in the dungeons. "I'll be back after that. To check on you," she explained to Thomas. She was off then with something that resembled a skip in her step.

Bill and Fleur stood at the top of the stairs, prepared to head down and face whoever had burst in through the dungeons. They had agreed: Hermione and the group were safe in the Headmaster's office, but they would be safer if the threat from the lower floors was taken care of. So, with a nod, the pair rushed down the stairs together, wands drawn.

/ / /

"We have to remove your soul," Hermione announced to Harry without preamble as the door closed them in. "Well, we need to get out the sliver that is the Horcrux in you. You can tell, can't you, that there is that bit in you that doesn't belong? That part of Voldemort?" Hermione asked.

Harry just nodded. As he crossed the room, though, a shiver over took him.

He shook his head then and asked with some indignation. "So what are you going to do? Just rip my soul out and stick it in a shoe box until after the battle?"

"No. It's not that easy I'm afraid, my boy." Filius replied. The Charms Master seemed to have no idea Potter had been kidding.

"We have to separate the parts," Hermione told him. "Birds are best for soul transfers. From the extensive reading I've done..."

Harry rolled his eyes and took a step back. He was incredulous. How, he wondered, could Hermione retain the ability to come off as the world's most incredibly annoying pedant even in the face of attacking Death Eaters... all while cradling a baby?

"The ancients believed that the soul, could leave the body in the form of a bird, often a hawk," Thomas told him. "The feather cloaks that Central American and Mexican priests and kings wore echo this connection to the idea of a soul journey."

"Birds?" Harry said with a look at Fawkes perch. "Fine. Let's just do this."

The realization that he was the bird in question seemed to hit the phoenix then, and Fawkes began to bellow.

"How are we going to manage this, Hermione..." Flitwick began with a grave look.

"The spell we need, I believe, is in the book ..._Magick Moste Evil_." Hermione reached for her satchel then.

"Don't tell me you just happen to be carrying around a copy of ..." Harry managed before he blanched slightly. The phoenix merely whistled. "That's Dark magic!" Harry warned.

"Not for us, it isn't," Filius assessed. "No. Well, the danger is always there in dealing with this book. But today? Today we have no choice, I fear."

The small wizard nodded as he read the page Hermione held open for him. "Yes. I understand. In this context it is seen very differently, is it not..." Filius walked to Harry then and gave him a reassuring smile.

"It is the Flight of the Soul we will undertake with you, Harry," Flitwick said, trying to sound confident it would work. He was nearly shouting now though to be heard over Fawkes. "Numerous myths have linked birds to the journeys undertaken by human souls. Sometimes a bird acts as a guide in the afterlife. In Syria, figures of eagles on tombs represent the guides that lead souls to heaven. The soul guide in Jewish tradition is a dove."

"Myths? Death myths?" Harry echoed. "You want me to let you in my head on the basis of a myth? Just let me go face Voldemort."

"You know that won't work Harry. Not so long as the Horcrux is in you. It is ensuring Voldemort's immortality." This last speaker was Albus' portrait.

Hearing the Headmaster's voice again enforced a silence over those gathered. Hermione was the first to recover.

"You see, Harry," Hermione began. "The spell in here speaks of moving one's 'self.' It sounded like a type of Apparition or flight. That didn't make sense to me until I spoke more with Thomas and his grandparents. Because that 'self' the book means is not your body. Your 'self' is your soul and this spell was designed to move your soul to cheat death. But we will use it in a different way, to remove a part of a soul that should not be in you... and to destroy it. The text is purposefully vague, I believe, so that the use would be even more difficult to figure out. Also, it names no vessel. But ..."

"I get it, based on your 'research' the best vessel is a bird."

"Right. Now come lie down over here, Harry," she said indicating the settee.

"What were you going to do if you had done this over at the Hogs Head, Hermione," Thomas asked. "Without Fawkes."

"Well," she admitted. "If the Headmistress had been successful in getting me out of here, I would have had to start with a goat, I suppose."

As upset as Fawkes was by this procedure, the bird complained even more loudly at the idea that his place was considered equal to that of a goat.

Hermione looked around the room quickly for a safe place to put Gundi. She settled on a box she found in the corner that was full of things the old headmaster had packed away. She gave the old man's portrait a look in question and he nodded. Once the contents were dumped out, the new mother fashioned her son a cradle with a quick spell.

"This isn't happening," Harry said quietly as he watched Hermione tuck the boy in.

Hermione did not turn to address him, but he heard her nonetheless. "Oh, I have that thought about 8 times a day lately."

Harry swung his feet up and reclined on the settee in response to Flitwick's urgent gestures.

The Charms professor looked down at Harry's rigid posture then. "This won't work, Mr. Potter, if you do not begin this with a sense of peace and purpose," Filius whispered. "Those things are necessary."

"Harry, you really do have to be relaxed," Hermione told her friend. "You have to let go of all your concerns." And the young man's eyes bore into hers then, and he actually laughed quickly. "What's bothering you?" she asked him. "Is there something we can explain or tell you? Do you want Ginny here..."

"No!" he yelled, suddenly. "I want to know what the hell happened last Fall. And I want to know _**why**_." Almost everyone in the room was quietly confused, but unwilling to say anything. Hermione understood, however, exactly what Harry was talking about.

"I did what I did because Dumbledore asked me to," she told him lowly.

"He asked you to sleep with Snape?" he said sitting up with disgust. "Hermione, that's..."

She sat down on the edge of the settee and faced him. "No. That's not how I got pregnant.. And Professor Snape didn't even _**know**_ I had been inseminated. Professor Dumbledore didn't ask his permission. The Headmaster just took from him what was necessary while he was unconscious. Severus never would have allowed it. He wouldn't have let me or anyone risk themselves for him."

Harry raised his eyes to the portrait of Albus that was across the room, and the old man's head merely nodded in sad agreement.

"But now?" Harry asked, his voice creaking with emotion. "Now you are just pretending to be with him?"

"No. I fell in love with him, Harry," Hermione whispered. "It wasn't something I planned. And I don't know that he can ever love me. But I do love him, and I am glad to have Gundi - as crazy as it all is. I'm all right with the way things are. But Harry," she said squeezing his arm. "We need to finish the fight. _**Without **_you merely sacrificing yourself. I have worked too hard to let you just lie down and die. Please, try this."

Luna crept in quietly to the office then. And the sounds of students in the hallway came in with her. "We took care of the men that came in through the dungeons. Bill said they were most likely a group that splintered off, hoping to get an early start on looting the castle. None of the Death Eaters believed there was anyone left to put up a fight in here," she said with a smile. "But the rest of Voldemort's followers are definitely massing outside the castle. I don't know how many. I'll be outside the door, and no one will get in," she said with an oddly light voice. And she was gone again.

"Lie back down, Harry," the Charms Master said.

"I'm going to be stuck in Fawkes forever," Harry mumbled.

"You need to relax," Hermione said as she carried Fawkes over to sit by the young man.

Harry closed his eyes and the Charms Master sat beside him. He laid a small hand on Harry's forehead and recited the words written in front of him carefully. He extended his other hand then for Fawkes to move to. The bird balked at first, but jumped finally to the Charms professor's arm.

The assembled group waited expectantly, but there was no change in Harry. It was the Boy Who Lived, himself who finally gave voice to what everyone was thinking.

"It isn't working. It might not ever work. And we just don't have time for this..." He moved to sit up.

Thomas spoke then. "Are you trying to move just the sliver of soul that does not belong to him?"

"Of course," Filius answered. And suddenly he understood the younger man's meaning. "If what we are doing doesn't work, then we move it all. We'll move everything that is in Harry. That's worth a try."

As everyone settled in to begin the spell again, Thomas walked for the table next to Harry with his satchel. He pulled three lumps of incense from the bag and set them down. "Insurance," he explained in answer to Hermione's questioning look. "From my grandmother." He pulled matches from his pocket then, and soon fragrant smoke was rising for the ceiling.

Three times the Charms Master tried the spells in _Magick Moste Evil_ and each time there was no effect other than to cause Harry pain.

"What's wrong. What do we do?" Hermione asked.

Thomas spoke up then. "In our stories it is often an animal the person was close with that takes the soul. So, there was a sense of connection. The jump was not as far. Does Harry have a pet?"

Hermione whispered, "Where's Hedwig?"

"I haven't seen him since I sent him with a message to Professor McGonagall 2 months ago," Harry told her.

"Oh, Harry," came Hermione's sad reply.

"Then it needs to be someone who can bridge the gap between these two," Thomas concluded. After a moment's pause, he said simply, "I'll be back. I need to find Hawk."

/ / / / / / /

Snape Apparated into the forest line near the castle and then promptly fell flat on his face. It was as if the sense of whirring in his brain had propelled him into the ground. Assessing the damage done to him by Voldemort, he decided the madman had likely crushed his trachea. He couldn't speak without squawking, and his breathing was somewhat labored. With a hand to his face, he was forced to admit he was now drooling. He had a brief and pitiful-feeling flash of Gundi then, lying in his cot, afflicted with a similarly wet chin. Severus groaned, knowing thoughts of the boy or Hermione were dangerously paralyzing.

There was movement then about a dozen yards off. It was Hagrid, he quickly noted. Snape relaxed as he realized he would not need to defend himself.

"Professor! What happen to you?" Hagrid asked in a hoarse whisper.

Snape pointed to his throat and forced a painful swallow before managing, "Going to try to heal..."

"You are going to try to heal it yourself," the half-giant interpreted. "Innit that tricky?"

Snape rolled his eyes from his spot on the ground. "If I make it worse..."

"If your spell makes it worse, you want me to try to fix it?" Hagrid said helpfully.

"No, just kill me."

"This is no time for jokes, Professor," Hagrid admonished. Although the large man was not completely sure the potion master was kidding, he had decided he would take it that way. "Now go ahead, sir."

Severus aimed the wand at his throat and attempted a healing. _**Something**_ had happened, he knew, when the lightening jolt of pain ran through him. He let out a strangled cry he could not contain and lay flat back on the ground. Then, with a tenuous sense of experimenting, he swallowed and placed a hand on his adam's apple. He groaned more with relief then than the discomfort. He would need professional help at some point, he knew, unless he was unlucky enough to end up dead... But the swelling was halved, and he could breath better now. Hopefully, he was done drooling on himself, as well.

"Tell me what is going on," a better-sounding Snape demanded of Hagrid.

"The Death Eaters are lined up and starting to light torches, see," the gameskeeper said with a gesture toward the castle. "You-know-who showed up just before you did, and they were sort of rallying and cheering and such. They are not expecting more than a walk into the castle, and they are taking their time about it. I got close enough I could hear them talking about ground rules on looting and taking prisoners and such. Who gets what... and well... who gets who."

_So I was unconscious a while. But managed to only miss the pre-game festivities, _Severus passed a hand over his shoulder where his coat was ripped and he could feel the armor underneath was as smooth as ever before. _Hermione will remind me never to doubt her again..._

_God, keep your head clear, _he warned himself for the second time in only 10 minutes.

"You alright then, Professor?" Hagrid asked seeing the strange look on the man's face.

"And on our side?" Snape said brusquely, as he stood up. "What's left?"

"Well, I know that American girl with the explosives is still in hiding out there. She should have one more mine to set off once those fellows start walking toward the castle. Then, well, I don't know what happens then - except we deal with the ones what ain't dead after that. We could follow on in behind these fellows. That would surprise them!"

_Or just amuse them, _Severus thought. Snape was not sure how much of a threat a wounded man and a half-giant of middling magic were. Hagrid pulled Beowulf's sword from his back then.

"Dandy weapon this is, Professor," Hagrid piped in as if in answer to Snape's doubts. "You'll see. But rest up now. Nothing to do till after that group moves into range and that girl blows everything up."

Hagrid said this with a reassuring smile as if it was the most normal thing in the world to wait on an American woman to blow the crud out of 45 men and the front lawn of Hogwarts.

/ / / / / / / /

Hermione had never heard Madam Hooch plainly referred to as 'Hawk', but it all made better sense five minutes later as the woman walked into the office ahead of Thomas.

The Flying Instructor had dealt with fearful students before. And she could see the signs clearly on Harry's face.

"Of course it will work, Harry," she told him in answer to the objection he had not even made out loud. "I'm your fairy god mother. So, hold my hand, let the old Charms Master do his job, and you get chocolate later." Rolanda didn't know if she believed any of this would truly work. She did know, however, that the strange American man standing next to her had an unnerving ability to convince her to do what he asked.

"Now close your eyes, boy. And trust us," Filius crooned softly.

When the Charms professor began the spell this time, the effect was immediate. Harry's chest rose up sharply from the cushions, and he gasped for air. The thinnest sliver of light connected to the Flying Instructor's chest, and her head snapped back, suddenly. Her free hand was gripping fiercely at the arm of her chair. But the process did not end. The two seemed stuck that way without the transfer ever seeming to move toward completion.

Thomas couldn't stand idly by any more. If there was any chance that he could influence this now, he would, even though this was not his sort of magic. He could see that Rolanda's instincts were to push the intruding soul out again. He walked over quickly until he could kneel in front of her. "Listen to me, Hawk. Don't let go of it. Just hold it there a minute until you can tell its parts. And then you will let go of the Horcrux. But only the Horcrux. See it in your mind. Your brother bird will take it. Hold it out for him." He held her hand then and turned the palm up. He found the callouses on her palm and caressed them lovingly and asked her to close her eyes. "You, who are so strong, so beautiful, can manage this."

Harry's eyes surged open and his chest heaved up. Filius laid a hand to him to push him back down but wordlessly Thomas motioned the Charms Master away.

Fawkes came to stand on Hooch's chest then. He cast his head to one side and looked at her keenly.

"You know what we need, Fawkes. Can you help us now? Now that it's Rolanda?" Albus asked from his portrait. "You need to take that splinter of soul onto yourself."

Fawkes beat his wings furiously and uncharacteristically.

"He doesn't like you, Thomas," Filius summed up.

"No, he wouldn't," Hooch said with effort.

"Does the Horcrux feel different than the rest," Hermioine asked. "Different than the full part of Harry? It might be just a sliver. Somehow wrong."

"Yes," Flitwick echoed. "It would be cold, sharp. Wrong. Visualize it and keep it separate."

"There!" Rolanda said, as if seeing it plainly in front of her.

"Now, Fawkes..." Hermione prompted firmly.

The bird coo'd in pained fashion. Filius touched the two of them and began the spell that had moved Potter's soul and it's hitch hiker to Hooch. He, too, tried to visualize it, that small wrong, off-ish part that needed to move being pulled by the spell.

Thomas still sat at Rolanda's feet, a hum of prayer escaping his lips. Behind his closed eyes, a scene played out. Rolanda stood outside in the sun in his vision. There were dandelions in her hair. And a wicked smile on her lips that was meant for him.

_Pass it on, _he thought, returning the smile.

Rolanda seemed to faint then. At that instant, the phoenix began a desperate protest, and Gundi began to cry from his spot behind Dumbledore's old desk. Feather's flying, the bird beat his wings furiously while Albus called out reassurance.

"Is he going to be alright?" Flitwick asked as he watched the bird circle the room.

"No. Alas. The Horcrux will kill him. But then, that is what we need to have happen. Now, get Harry's soul out of Rolanda!" Albus yelled.

A silent, near robotic Harry Potter sat down stiffly.

Those assembled found that getting things to move in the direction they were intended was much easier, although the sounds of the frightened and enraged phoenix did make it hard for everyone to concentrate.

Once the spell was complete and both Harry and Rolanda had been examined quickly, everyone took to watching Fawkes' tortured flight. Hermione went to quickly scoop up her son and comfort him. Harry took this chance to get to his feet and make for the door. Thomas opened it for him, rather than stand in his way, and the younger man actually thanked the soldier.

There was a fierce bang then and the windows rattled. Fawkes fell dead to the ground at the same moment. "Was... was that possibly the sound of the Horcrux exploding inside Fawkes?" Filius wondered. The bird was a burning heap in front of him now.

"No," Thomas assessed quickly. "That was most definitely a claymore! Ellie has set off the last of them."

"It's now," Filius said.

"That last battle," Albus agreed.

"Albus!" the small man called out suddenly. "Is the Flue still working? Is there a way to get Hermione and the baby out?"

Against Hermione's objections, she and the baby were hustled toward the fireplace.

"Ah. To be safe. Safe as houses." Filius recited, echoing Dumbledore's instructions.

Flitwick pressed a few galleons into her hand and then with the help of Thomas they got her fully into the Flue. She and Gundi were soon gone even as her protests still rang in the room.

"Great God, I'm a trusting soul," Filius said with a sudden sense of realization. "Albus, just where the hell have we sent her, and how do we get her back when the time comes?"

"Well, the safe house in question is one of ill-repute. Well, not so _**very**_ ill," Albus demurred. "Not in MY book. But they will treat her well. And she is not so very far away. But assuredly safe. They just love to baby people there."

"What about you, Rolanda? Are you well enough? How's your head. Maybe we should send you after Hermione," Thomas said.

"My head is fucking killing me, thank you for asking." the witch replied tartly. "But I am damned if I am going to run off to Dumbledore's sparkly spanky spa. I am not going to waste this headache. I'm going to take it out on those Death Eaters."

They were at the door now and Rolanda stopped them there so that she could whisper to Thomas. "What was that you were humming when I was getting the soul transplant. Some Native prayer?"

"It was our song," he told her with a quirk to his smile.

"God, you are a complete trial."

"Just stick with me, okay?" he said checking the magazine in his .45.

"You want me to take care of you, eh?"

"Oh, most definitely."

/ / / / / /


	57. Chapter 57

_**A/N: Pitiful. That's what I am. I just can't get this thing finished. So, I am giving you the first bit of what was supposed to be a 7 page chapter... Chew on this while I beat the rest of it into submission. I think posting this (sad, lame excuse for a) chapter will shame me into getting the rest up quicker.  
**_

_**What I have managed to do is get horribly distracted with a job search. I mean, really, who needs a job when you have fan fiction? That is evidently what my brain was thinking because for some reason I then cranked out an Inspector Morse fanfiction. I am probably the only person who writes Doctor Who, Harry Potter, and something as... gosh, boring, as Inspector Morse. Sigh. And what did I get for my troubles? One review. Still, Morse needed the love. Not that I didn't already owe you guys a chapter. Really, attention span of a fruit fly, me!**_

_**Many thanks to Selmak the wise and benevolent.**_

_**So, Hagrid and Snape are on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest watching the show ramp up... **_

* * *

"So, like I said, Professor," Hagrid said. "Rest up." The half giant looked him over then, and Snape knew that look.

"That bad?"

There was a shared gallows humor suddenly that made a certain stinging honesty possible between the two men.

"You've looked better." Hagrid paused uncomfortably then and feigned a look out toward the castle. "The headmistress warned me this morning... Well, told me, you know, to look out for you. That you were on our side all along." The words were uneasy. Skating over a depth of questions and concerns.

And those questions and concerns were all too simple for Snape to sum up. "You are protective of Miss Granger."

"Yes..."

"We have that in common then." And he met the half giant's eyes unshirkingly.

Hagrid looked away finally. He was ill-at-ease, yes. And confused, but still, the Gamekeeper realized he was reassured nonetheless.

With a sigh, Severus let himself settle back against a tree. He was resolved, he admitted to himself. He was not the near suicidal operative he had been months earlier. He no longer viewed his life as forfeit or as demanded in payment for past wrongs. This end fight was no longer what he viewed as his end. His escape. That motivation had left him.

He would try to get himself through this. And he would try because of Hermione. Not because he saw himself in some idyllic post war setting with her. No rose covered cottage. Not the boy on his knee.

He would get himself through this because she needed to be able to walk away from him instead of being saddled with his death.

He knew what the latter was like. To lose someone unobtainable. To hold yourself responsible. To punish yourself with thoughts about someone that are unreal. Distorted thoughts. He had done that all in spades.

It is difficult to fall out of love with a martyr. Incredibly difficult to let reality illuminate the true scarcity of feeling.

What they had had wasn't real. It would not have lasted and was based on pain and self delusion and guilt. That was what it had taken him years to realize after Lily's death.

Snape could spare Hermione that at the inconvenience of staying alive. And time and simple reality in a less adrenaline-driven world would give the girl the chance to see him. See him as unsuitable.

He could picture the scene as he lay there at the edge of the forest. She would be apologetic, but not horribly so, as she recanted all her feelings for him... because she would believe she was talking with someone who had no heart to break.

"You were right," he could envision this future Hermione saying. "I can see now how this won't work. I loved you. I did. But that was then. It was a strange time. Strange circumstances. And everything seems so different now."

"If the boy ever needs anything..." he would offer coolly, in parting. His face would be impassive as she took one last chance to look for something in him that could keep her there.

She would come up empty.

So, she would nod in thanks and kiss his cheek. And be free of him.

/ / / /

Out in front of Hogwarts, Voldemort had felt that Horcrux leave. A coldness and an emptiness that even he could register seemed to flow in. The Dark Lord knew with Potter's gone, the last Horcrux now was the one in Nagini. The snake was wrapped about him, and he laid a hand to it like it was a touchstone. The feeling when the splinter of soul left Potter and was destroyed had stilled everything for him. The Death Eaters had just begun to move forward for the castle. He had taken but a few steps when his brain began to pull open and he stopped. His followers gave him a wide berth as he pressed a hand to his head, and they continued forward.


	58. Chapter 58

_**A/N: I have a job interview tomorrow... so cross your fingers. If I'm in a bad mood later, every character might just get the ax!**_

/ / / /

_Out in front of Hogwarts, Voldemort had felt that Horcrux leave. A coldness and an emptiness that even he could register seemed to flow in. The Dark Lord knew with Potter's gone, the last Horcrux now was the one in Nagini. The snake was wrapped about him, and he laid a hand to it like it was a touchstone. The feeling when the splinter of soul left Potter and was destroyed had stilled everything for him. The Death Eaters had just begun to move forward for the castle. He had taken but a few steps when his brain began to pull open and he stopped. His followers gave him a wide berth as he pressed a hand to his head, and they continued forward._

The sensation in his brain was so disorienting that even the blast around him, the screams and the insanity, had seemed to happen in the background in dimly-lit slow motion. Voldemort looked around, not believing. The swell of Death Eaters ahead of him had turned to a rabble. Rationally, he knew, there had been an explosion. Yes. Rocks and dirt were everywhere. And bits of metal from a weapon had been whistling through the air. This, now, was the result, his brain supplied: there were men on the ground. Cut open, they were dead and wounded.

The Dark Lord growled then with the knowledge that it was, no doubt, a Muggle weapon that had been used against his forces.

Feeling emptied, he plucked at his chest, as if he would find the missing piece of soul. As if finding it again would right the scene in front of him. He then pressed a hand to his head and stared up at the castle where he knew Potter must be, as if he could re-establish contact with boy. All around the dark wizard there were screams, but nothing was real suddenly. Not the connection with Potter and not even the people nearest him.

"My Lord? My Lord!" It was Bella. He could see the words on her lips and, finally then, hear them. She was standing still in front of him in a sea of moving robes. "The men are panicking. They need you to lead them into the castle..."

The Dark Lord mechanically began to stride for the light of the doorway then. One hand was to his head, the other establishing a bond with his familiar. He looked around him blankly taking in the sight of the Death Eaters who lay in the grass.

"A Muggle weapon," Bella spat. "Some of the men are dead. Some just wounded." Some, she worried, are itching to run. She could tell by the way the able bodied were shortening their strides even now, falling further behind. She decided to set the right example and moved all the faster for the castle.

She crossed cautiously over the threshold and paused to survey the entrance hall. There was no one alive here. Perhaps that attack outside had been something left over, she wondered. Had it been something pre-arranged that went off when a simple trip wire was breached? Those in the castle might all be dead. Or there may just be a few survivors huddled in the Great Hall under a Death Eater guard waiting to give themselves over to Voldemort.

The smell was registering with her. Smoke, yes. But more than that. Death. It made her prick up a smile. Burnt tapestries. Burnt bodies. Small bodies, she noted as she glanced around without emotion. There were a few luckless Death Eaters there on the floor, too.

She looked to the doorway then to make eye contact with each Death Eater who crossed the threshold, to assess each man that would serve her Lord. They would mass here. Those able. And then walk for the Great Hall. Once Voldemort has passed into the castle, she walked out to check on the stragglers. Perhaps there were wounded she could hustle along.

She saw him then. Malfoy's hair ensured even now that he would be immediately recognized. She could see the lack of surety in his steps. The cloud to Lucius' eyes.

To Malfoy, the room ahead of him seemed to glow like an eerie portent. He could see the fire scorched walls. The smell met him already at this distance. But what had turned his mind was the weapon. Their numbers had been cut almost by one third, and they had not seen _**anyone**_ yet. Not a single defender. What waited over that threshold, he had to wonder.

And why, after the death of his son, was he willing to face it? He felt his face crease, he was weighed down with the words he had told Narcissa so many times in recent weeks, _'What was a victory without the son to turn it all over to?'_

Lucius saw things could go much worse for them in the castle. They had already encountered one surprise that had killed or wounded over 20 of their number. It had put him in a panic, his sense of self preservation pushed him to weigh his options.

He was turning in place now, as if counting the dead would tell him whether he should press forward or bolt. Even if there was victory waiting he wondered what it mattered with Draco dead.

Bella continued to stand by the door, looking for the disloyal and punishing the slow. She was firing shots at those outside who she deemed in need of motivation. And in between those shots, she watched Malfoy. She waited for him to make up his mind.

Their eyes locked and Lucius chose that moment to run.

He was moving now ... like a man possessed, headed for the gate – the nearest point allowing Apparation.

The witch's shot was a long one. And her first three curses missed, but Bella was calmly undeterred. She walked from the shelter of the doorway to focus all her energies more cleanly on that traitor. She would watch him fall, she had decided, if she had to follow him to the gates of Hell and grab him back to satisfy her own need. Her hatred of him at that moment was that single minded. She had her satisfaction when her curse finally caught him and brought him sprawling to the ground. With a grunt, she turned back to re-enter the castle.

/ / / / / / / / / /

"I need everyone. We need everyone now," Minerva had told them. "It is NO LONGER a question of if they will come through, unfortunately, but when. Tonight, we decide it all. Succeed or fail, it comes down to us."

Minerva had addressed all those assembled an hour earlier as the Death Eaters gathered outside. Her words, the tone of unaccustomed desperation, echoed in the students' heads now as they waited for their signal.

Luna stood in the Great Hall by the door that led to the entrance way. She staggered back a step and nodded to Minerva. The Death Eaters were in, she had felt it in the stinging chill to the air.

Minerva motioned to the ghost that hovered at her shoulder. "Sir Nick, tell Professor Flitwick and Kingsley Shacklebolt. _Now_."

/ / / / /

From one side passageway, Filius' forces crept forward. Across from them, Kingsley and his group were doing the same. They would engage the Death Eaters who stood in the scarred entrance.

The defenders fired from cover, and more battle toughened now, the students did not hesitate after they watched a Death Eater fall. Instead they moved to target the next. But there were a great number of them, and these Death Eaters were skilled.

Behind the wizards in black robes, Voldemort then stepped from where he had paused near the threshold. When he came into view, the atmosphere changed immediately. A sixth year gamely fired at him. And while it stung the dark wizard, it did little else. The girl was quickly dispatched with a spell from Voldemort's wand.

Both sides took losses. No advantage was clear. The battle would have been evenly matched were it not for the addition of Voldemort. With his arrival, he was tipping things in the Death Eaters favor. Still, he was forced to watch his men fall to the newly trained, newly hardened students and the smattering of volunteers who had come to bolster the castle's defenses.

/ / / / / / / /

Outside, Hagrid and Severus stole forward. The pair quickly stunned those surviving to prevent them from fighting. Should those Death Eaters wake they would find themselves bound and their wands gone.

Off in the shadows, a figure ran for the dungeon doors. Severus raised his wand while he considered who it might be. Hagrid quickly shouted a warning. "It's that American woman, Professor. The one who shot off the mines!"

They watched as some small force assigned to that door let her in then and re- warded it. Then they continued to carefully pick their way forward.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

Within the Great Hall, Minerva took one last fortifying breath and magically whisked open the huge doors ahead of her. The picture of a proud queen entering battle, she strode resolutely forward. Mad Eye swallowed hard at the sight.

As she crossed into the entrance way, Harry stepped to her side with his wand drawn.

Voldemort's first reaction to their arrival was a slow smile. Time seemed to hang suspended for a moment and then in the next instant Harry and Minerva were both locked in a contest of curses with the dark wizard. The pair yielded just the few steps at a time. Drawing Voldemort in, inviting him, toward the castle's Great Hall.

There was a quiet delight on the Dark Lord's face. He was so happily blinded by the prospect of finally being able to kill Minerva McGonagall and Harry Potter that no other thoughts bothered him. He seemed aware of nothing else. His lieutenants, Antonin Dolohov and Bella LeStrange moved with him.

Bella raised her wand to fend off all other comers from the Dark Lord's left side. And Antonin Dolohov stood on the monster's right.

As the three dark mages entered the Great Hall, the castle's ghosts sprang forth. It was as if the wall's tapestries had burst to life. Specters dove and spun at the mass of Death Eaters to them cut off from their leader.

With a cold certainty he had never known in life, Binns 'walked' straight through those in his way and secured the doors to the Great Hall.

The forces were divided now, Minerva acknowledged with an approving look. She, Harry and a core of others would face Voldemort and his lieutenants. Filius and Kingsely would lead the other defenders in finishing off the force the Dark Lord had brought with him by drawing them deeper into the castle.

That was the plan. Minerva and those with her could only pray it would work.

/ / / / / / / /


	59. Chapter 59

_***A/N:**_

_**This is not the last of our heroes. Over the past few days, it has felt like the last of me, however. Life is often toughest when we get what we ask for. So, I got that job. And I am now on the go from 11pm – 7 am and then trying to sleep during the day. My initial assessment? Zombie-hood. Despite my love affair with Red Bull.**_

_**It was Malfoy Senior who got sprawled out by Bella for cowardice. I honestly haven't decided if he is dead or if Hagrid will end up ladling restorative tea down his throat.**_

_**I've decided that writing a battle scene is like choreographing a stampede.**_

_**In other news, SEL ROCKS!**_

_**Thank you all SO SO much for being patient and kind.**_

/ / / / / / / /

George and Fred had insisted on being in the Great Hall with Harry. And Minerva, out of time, had consented. The confusion was such that no one knew for sure where Ron - or many of the others were.

Also, refusing to leave the Great Hall was Neville. The young wizard nervously altered his stance as he stood with his eyes fixed on Bella. Luna was in the room, as well. She had somehow convinced Minerva she could help with Nagini. So, Luna stood now at Neville's side.

Moody, and Seamus with the Gae Bulga, waited at the ready behind Minerva and Harry.

Later, the survivors would say what transpired was disturbingly fast. Wholly unpredictable. It was an odd disjointed series of actions really, more than a battle with sides.

/ / / / / /

Dolohov responded to the sound of the doors closing behind him by firing off three rapid shots. Before anyone could make sense of what had begun, Fred was dropping to the floor. His face was a hard grimace in death. The Dark Lord took the time to laugh as he enjoyed George's immediate show of anger and grief.

It was unlikely then, all would agree later, to hear Luna's voice above all other's in that next moment.

"Nagini," Luna called out. She unleashed a spell that sent dozens of mice across the floor, and the serpent's head turned back and forth with the prospect of so many mesmerizing targets. The snake's weighty movements unsettled Voldemort and prevented him from attacking. The Dark Lord roughly pushed Nagini to the floor and then fired, but Luna was already gone.

"Get her, Bella," the Dark Lord directed in an angry growl. Voldemort took the time the to extinguish the mice

Bella stepped away from her Lord then. Following Nagini toward that side of the room, she moved to engage Luna and Neville.

Despite the danger, the corners of Luna's mouth crept up into a satisfied expression. Bella was following the defender's plan as if she had agreed to it herself. Minerva and Moody had decided that once they had separated Voldemort and those closest to him from the mass of Death Eaters that they would work to further separate the force.

For Neville, knowing things were working according to plan did not make the sight of a blood thirsty LeStrange any easier to face, however. It was impossible not to think of his parents when he looked at her.

"I wish my husband was here to see me finish you, Longbottom," Bellatrix trilled with a smile. She had no doubt her husband, who was sent to lead one of the earlier attacks on the castle, was in the Headmaster's office by now, or securing prisoners. _But really he should be __**here, **_she thought. _Didn't Rodulphus know Voldemort was in the castle and that the moment was now?_

"I saw him," Neville simply said, as he stepped sideways like a fencer. He pulled his Xiphos then from where it hung at his side.

The loyal Bella, circled in kind as she spoke, "And was he impressed by your toy? Because..."

Luna had watched enough. She couldn't wait - to do so would be to let Bella target Neville. The wisp of a blonde had felt the crazed woman's curse rising in the heat that sprang from her. "Your husband is dead, Bella," Luna said flatly. "A Muggle shot him." The Ravenclaw raised her wand higher then and fired at Bella. Moving as if propelled in a gust of wind, Luna did not even see her shot land.

Repositioned now, the girl saw the effect. She had caught LeStrange cleanly in the chest in the woman's moment of unguarded disbelief. Luna suspected she was more surprised by a Muggle having a role in her husband's demise than the man's demise itself.

Bella was down on one knee, but she was far from finished.

As the witches traded volleys, Neville turned out of intuition to track Nagini. A prickle on the back of his neck had warned him that Bella was not the only one having her attention divided.

...

Across the room, Alastor had stepped in to shield a keening George while the young man held his twin's body. Having found a measure of amusement in the red head's death, Dolohov seemed almost annoyingly languid now in his volleys with Moody. It was as though he believed he could beat the scarred wizard that easily. The Death Eater laughed a touch louder as he parried with the old Auror, and that sound suddenly brought George Weasley to his feet.

In the room's center, the Dark Lord had been content to merely counter the curses that Minerva and Harry sent at him, but that changed now. Seeing his Death Eaters out numbered, his impatience with the game grew. Voldemort formed a force that coalesced around his forearms and then fired, and a wave that drove the castle's defenders back. An exhausted Minerva and Harry stumbled a few paces, but resolutely remained standing directly in front of Voldemort.

The Dark Lord growled wildly and spurred on Nagini with a motion of one hand. The snake moved quicker then as if eager to reprove her dedication. Bella's master grunted with frustration at her, wanting her back on her feet and attacking the pair of students that faced her.

Voldemort turned to look to his right then, toward Dolohov, in time to see Alastor press forward.

Moody couldn't stand to see Minerva in the open any longer. His mind made up, he gamely stepped into the fray with a full-throated roar. He targeted Dolohov one more time and fired. But the pale Death Eater managed to retain his feet. It was George's curse then, coming unexpectedly over the Auror's shoulder, that finally dropped the dark wizard to the floor. He hit with a sickening thud that seemed to signal he was dead before he met the ground. That much hate and power had sprung from George's wand.

/ / / / / /

Snape walked through the now empty entrance toward the Great Hall, finding that the battle that had been there had moved into the side corridors.

He had left Hagrid outside to finish trussing up the wounded and able bodied prisoners. But Severus, without knowing quite why, had decided to relieve the half-giant of Beowolf's sword. Perhaps he had sensed the need for it was coming in the room that lay just beyond.

What he most assuredly had sensed, as he first hefted the long weapon, was the importance in having the sword and the armor he wore reunited. Severus could feel an odd chill run through him. Some magic was freeing him from human emotion. He was rid of any fear and instead was left with only perfect focus.

Voldemort did not seem to even see Severus push through the heavy doors, but he responded to the man's presence nonetheless. He raised his chin and sniffed at the air as if deeply repulsed by the smell of something foul and fetid.

The spy raised his wand and cast the killing curse without hesitation or preamble. This was no duel, there was no room for chivalry.

The effect was only to momentarily stun Voldemort, throwing him back a few feet. Still, it is more than any had done before.

The Dark Lord's return curses punished the the Potion Master and finally dropped him to his knees despite the charmed armor. Everyone moved then as if pushed by the freshness of the efforts that Severus had made since bursting through the great hall's door.

One person Severus could not even identify in his state came up to take up a position between him and the Dark Lord. The potion master marveled at the sight, although he was feeling out of time and place with the effects of the curses he had taken.

Minerva circled out of the dark wizard's likely line of fire then. And stubbornly put herself in front of George. She was so instinctively protective she would have placed herself between Voldemort and any former student of hers, regardless of their age. All the while, her eyes were tracking the continued menace that was Nagini. She resolutely blasted at the snake. But the beast was too quick.

Luna stepped a bit closer then, seeming far too reckless. She felt inspiration surge through her. _Wouldn't a cold blast slow the reptile down?_ Her eyes closed in concentration, and she sent a frigid blast forward to engulf the beast. Minerva saw the effect immediately and targeted the snake again.

Nagini was blinded now. The creature hissed and turned in slow circles.

It was quick then. Over before anyone had thought what to do about the wounded snake. Neville had raised the small sword his grandmother had given him and closed on the serpent. With a bright flash, the snake suddenly lay in two halves.

Minerva turned her wand quickly to Bella then, and dropped Voldemort's lieutenant to her knees with a fierce barrage of curses. The Headmistress stumbled back from exhaustion, trying to catch her breath. She tried to put away her misgivings over the battle while she pulled in more air.

The Dark Lord had recovered from the Severus' attack from Severus, but he was then equally as stunned at the sight of Neville standing over the lifeless body of his familiar. The loss of that final Horcrux caused a physical reaction in him then. He seemed to stagger a touch back and he bent his head toward the ground. _I__s he grieving,_ Minerva paused to wonder. _Or does the madman finally see immortality has been stolen from him?_

From his spot near the wall, Seamus knew with a pang in his chest that that was _his _moment. The squire was stepping out from the brave man's shadow. He thought of Sligo and the queen. He held onto a vision of Ellie, and he rushed forward until he was within two yards of Voldemort. He hitched back with the Gae Bulga then and heaved it into the distracted man, keeping his hands to the handle.

He felt the sickening resistance as the barbs sunk into the Dark Wizard's chest. But Finnigan merely pushed it deeper, growling. He reaffirmed his grasp and leaned into his task.

Voldemort was not mortally wounded, but he found he was anchored there in the middle of the Great Hall. The thought made wild. Incredulous fury glowed in his eyes. He stared at Seamus who groaned with the effort of holding the spear's end. The young man met the demon's eyes firmly, more afraid to look away than anything.

With a summoning of will, Voldemort was able to pull Seamus along with him. It was Alastor, not the quickest of foot, but the quickest of mind who barreled across the open space and helped to anchor Seamus. But with their hands to the spear, they were defenseless. And when Alastor saw the wand the Dark Lord raised at them, he turned. He placed himself in front of the boy and took the blast to his own back. His heavy coat seem to glow a moment and it crackled with the force of the blast. The web that was woven under the long coat Alastor wore was severely tested, but intact.

Moody felt the shock of the blast run through him. He felt his vision dim. With the last of his strength the old Auror threw his weight against the spear's handle, "To the ground, man!" he told Seamus through gritted teeth.

The pair of them fell on the handle and pinned it to the ground while those around them watched in stunned silence. Voldemort's screams echoed as he was twisted violently. The barbs never releasing him, he was pulled to the ground as well.

In all this time, Snape had still not recovered from the curses he had taken. As the potion master struggled to find his feet, he was shocked to realize that it was Neville of all people who had moved to stand between him and the fray. It was Neville who had provided him with the time to recover.

"When the spear fails," Neville muttered stepping forward now. His progress was even and determined. He meant to take on Voldemort himself everyone saw. Bella was sprawled and seeming lifeless on the floor. But seeing him, she used her failing breath to spell his sword from him and send it skittering across the stone floor. Minerva did not know if she should move for the weapon or continue the spell she had now directed at Voldemort. But she willed the boy some strength when she heard Bellatrix mock him with her raspy voice.

"You've dropped your toy, child..." Bella managed from the floor.

"Ela thou!" came Neville's sure voice. His sword flew to him, and even as he stretched out his left hand to retrieve it, he was firing off a curse at Bella with the wand in his right. Chills flowed through Minerva at the sight. Alice and Frank would have been been incredibly proud, she knew. And the wizarding world had lost a whipping boy in that moment.

A seemingly dispassionate Neville watched Bella fall back to the ground and then turned instinctively to check his back.

Voldemort cursed and twisted on the ground attempting to defend himself. He fired wildly without a true target, desperate in his attempts to take as many defenders with him as possible. One raw blast caught Minerva and sent her sprawling.

Harry came closer then, stepping over Dolohov's body to face Voldemort squarely. He nearly skidded to a stop as he saw the Dark Lord's wand aimed at him. The two wizards locked eyes for a suspended moment.

With the Horcrux gone Voldemort no longer had any sense for what Harry was doing or thinking. And it disturbed and distracted him. The once great mind was fixated at this point in the battle on just how Potter had managed to become unseeable to him even at only a few paces distance.

Clearing his head in a moment, Voldemort growled with the effort of focusing a curse at Potter.

But Harry did not wait. And he did not fire alone, because Severus did not hesitate after finally regaining his feet. He raised his wand and released a searing Unforgiveable at the Dark Lord.

It was nearly anti-climatic to watch Voldemort fall. Severus would never counter the claim that it was Harry's spell which had brought the Dark Lord down. He was content to have gotten through the battle in near enough one piece. And to have the chance to be publicly seen as being on the side of the light. To be acknowledge as one of the Dark Lord's slayers by those out side this room would have been a fairy tale not even fit for Gundi.

Minerva made her way to her feet and rushed to Mad Eye to assure herself the old wizard was alive. Luna and Neville both worked to free Seamus' grasp from the Gae Bulga.

"Anyone able," Minerva called out even as she knelt by the prone Moody. "If you are not tending someone. Go help Filius and Kingsley. Go check on the Infirmary and report back to me." A few people did manage to follow that command, although most were too stunned to move at all.

Kingsley, Thomas, and Hooch burst in through the door behind the staff' table then, clearly surprised to see the fighting done. "Filus sent us," the tall Wizard called out to the Headmistress. "His group is securing the castle room by room. But he thinks it is done."

"_**Is**_ it done then? Severus, is he dead? Finally?" Minerva asked in a far away voice.

Severus did not trust his own eyes. Did not trust his ears that told him that the dark wizard no longer breathed. He could not, after so many years, trust that Voldemort was truly finished without the threat of return. He couldn't form any words to answer Minerva. Without regard to those around him who would have gladly been spared the spectacle, Snape hefted the sword he still held and lifting the body from the ground with one hand, he struck at Voldemort's neck. He had cleanly removed the head from the dark wizard's body.

"Burn his body," Minerva ground out as she gave her old friend an approving nod.

And when the others blanched and hesitated, it was Thomas, Neville and Hooch who stepped forward. Severus grabbed a discarded cloak to throw on the carcass.

But Neville stepped to the Dark Lord's body first. "Ginetai," Neville pronounced as he drove the old Greek sword into where the dark wizard's heart should lie. "Now. It is done."

Once the body was out of the castle, those gathered were roused from their stupor, and began to move the wounded toward the Infirmary or to fix the damage in the Great Hall. All of it in a strangely stunned silence that would not abate until the Headmistress called them all to sit and rest at the newly righted tables. Then as food began to appear around them. And as they began to relieve their thirst, words began to spill out. Minerva turned to see a weakly protesting Moody being taken off to the Infirmary, and she accepted that her next job would be there. Not just to be there for him. But for the incredible numbers of wounded they needed to take care of.

/ / / / / / / / / / / /

If my Greek is horribly wrong, I apologize. (Hangs head in shame...)


	60. Chapter 60

_A/N: Thanks for all the great reviews folks. I am really flattered that you would take the time to read this (increasingly long and seemingly endless) story._

_Alas, this is also **not** the last chapter._

_I am off to bed, I have this fantasy where I wake up and there will be reviews in my inbox. :)_

* * *

Hermione felt odd, making her way back to the castle in a carriage provide by the brothel. She could see the damage done to the school's walls at this distance in the early morning sun. It tore at her, and she let her self look away. She held Gundi a little closer and kissed his tiny hands, trying not to think of what everyone in the castle had gone through in her absence.

As the carriage slowed near the Hogwart's entrance, she looked out the door to see Ellie and Seamus sitting together on the steps. The young wizard's hands were bandaged and he looked haggard. Ellie had cast an arm around him and was holding him close.

That pair seemed in their own world, and in fact barely looked up as the carriage came to a stop. It was two others who approached Hermione. Given their posture and demeanor as they strode up, she guessed Thomas and the Hufflepuff seventh year with him were on guard duty.

"How did you know it was safe to come back?" Thomas asked.

"Albus has a portrait he can inhabit at the ... spa. He popped in to give us word there."

Thomas reached up to help her from the strange conveyance. Hermione asked the American quietly then, "Where is he?"

"Harry?"

"Snape," she whispered.

Thomas leaned in then and touched the baby to disguise the conversation they were having. He put a gentle hand to her arm to support her and leaned closer. "He's all right. Just in the infirmary." She was already moving pulling away. "It's minor, Hermione. Really."

She murmured her thanks and shifted Gundi a little higher to walk with him.

... ... ... ... ...

There presiding over the fixing of the hallway was Professor Flitwick. Hermione had been thrown together with him as the battle had loomed and they had worked together to free Harry from the Horcrux. But that time together had not included any sort of discussion about her role in Albus' newly revealed charade. So, although none of what transpired over the last year should have made her feel blame worthy, she felt decidedly awkward seeing him now.

Hermione knew there must be questions, at best. Or lingering assumptions or even judgements. Would it be like this with every person from her past that she saw, she lamented. "Has Minerva explained things?" she asked as Filius stopped his work to cheerfully greet her.

"She has. Enough. Or almost enough. The basics," the professor said softly. But his eyes were only on the boy, she saw. Filius sighed as he leaned closer and touched the baby softly. The Charms Master seemed to move with paternal instinct then. With a sad smile, he scooped the boy under the arms and lifted him gently from his mother. And she knew to let Gundi go. Something in Flitwick needed the comfort that was the baby just then.

"I'll watch him. You need to see Severus," the old wizard whispered without even sparing her a glance. "Tell him you forgive me for the shot I took at him. Please? You have your reunion, and the boy and I will be along in just 20 minutes time."

So, Hermione kissed Gundi on the head and hurried toward the Infirmary. She didn't even break her stride as she reached for the doors. She pushed her way in with one sweeping motion and then bit her lip to help fight the urge to simply call out for Severus.

She had known it would be mayhem, there of all places in the castle. But it still stunned her to see it. The room was full of wounded, care givers, and those there by the bed sides. There must have been 25 extra beds pushed into the space, and more people stood in small groups along the walls awaiting treatment for minor injuries.

That was where she finally spotted him. He was off in the back corner. Uncharacteristically slumped looking against the wall. She had known he would remove himself as much as possible. And he had.

He saw her. She knew he did, but he didn't seem to move. He didn't say a thing. She threaded through the beds and carts with her eyes only on his. As politely as possible, she worked passed the people who crowded every aisle. Although steadily moving, she felt as if she would never reach him. Finally, there were just the last few yards of open space. He moved just a bit then. His wand was out, and as she closed on him, she saw a flick of his wrist which brought a hospital curtain to move in behind her.

She didn't so much hug him, as sink into him. She poured herself into his chest. At first, under her touch, he felt different. As if the world had changed and them along with it. But she wouldn't let go. She wouldn't let that thought in.

He wouldn't want this display, that thought rang softly in the back of her brain. But she could not release him.

She was so exhausted that it was adrenaline alone that had brought her this far. She was so relieved to find him whole, to feel his heart beat under her cheek, that she couldn't carry on suddenly. Her limbs turned leaden, and she relied on him to hold her up.

Unseen to her, he had closed his eyes as he had wrapped his arms around her. He had his eyes tightly shut now against the emotion she seemed to have brought with her and handed him. A hoarse gasp came up from his throat as he realized that all of this was somehow real.

... ... ... ... ... ...

Time had been locked still for Severus and seeing her walk in, it was set free. He had been there by the wall waiting on Poppy, but his focus was only on the Infirmary door. He'd stood frozen, waiting for his first sign of Hermione. And finally, she'd appeared.

Her eyes were searching the place, hoping to find him, he realized. And he knew he would carry a picture of her face in that moment with him forever. There was worry, desperation. Her eyes were hopeful, it seemed.

She loved him. In that moment it was clearer and more poignant than spoken word. That woman loved him without reservation, he realized with a pang in his chest.

And in that moment, he needed her. He had managed to stand there, holding time in abeyance. He'd been held firm by the belief that this moment would finally come. Because the terror that they had all been through was not over until he saw her, held her. The end wasn't real. Not yet.

He straightened a tad to catch her eye. And watched as she found him. He saw the change in her then. Her steps suddenly quickened. She was coming for him. And he let out a groan at the pain in his chest that the sight of her caused in him. He had forgotten to breathe, he realized now.

As she passed under his fingertips, he allowed himself to believe it. The war is done and she is safe. _And she loves me. Truly. If only in this moment._ _It's still real._ The thoughts thudded through him as he wrapped tired arms around her and breathed her in. _Too soon, I'll have to let her go. I won't do it now. Not yet. Damn the world to hell, not yet._

With no more fight, with no more task masters to demand that he push on, he let himself fail. His strength was spent and his legs began to leave him. And he was too far gone to ask another thing of his body that day.

He couldn't hold her and not fall, he realized. He could barely keep himself from the floor. The long nights, the fight itself, the wait for her had completely drained him. But he stubbornly chose not to let go of her.

He heard her cry out. Sobs of relief, it seemed. The two of them were wound so tightly that her crying echoed through his chest.

"Hermione," he whispered. It was his warning. As emotion and fatigue began to take them to the ground, it was his warning that he wouldn't fight it any more. Slowly, they began to slide down against the wall. She collapsed with a sigh at his side. Turned her head into his chest and mopped at her tears.

The world intruded then. There was the sound of clanging as a cart of supplies was overturned. There were shouts. Above it all, there was Alastor Moody suddenly bellowing in pain. And carrying just barely across the space, Minerva's voice, tired and desperate, begging the man to let Poppy help him.

/ / / /

"Yes, Alastor. Let her help you. You need to let Poppy sedate you," Minerva tried to reason.

But the old Auror was beyond listening. The pain and years of paranoia had left him mad with fear and mistrust. He was half crazed. Even he knew it somehow, as he assessed the world with the small bit of himself that struggled to stay rational.

_It hurts everywhere. Everywhere. What else, dear God? After everything else what else could possible be done to me._ He worried that should he live, he would find that he had been whittled further down. _But they were all so keen to sedate him. To put him out of his misery. It was that bad._

"Minerva. Don't let her. Not like. I won't go this way."

The old witch shook her head at him in frustration. "You are not going to die, you stubborn bastard. But you need to sleep."

He had lashed out then as he had seen the matron draw closer with her wand and her reeking philters.

Poppy shrugged helplessly at the scene and backed away. "I've got injured everywhere, Minerva. Severus needs me before I can set him to making potions... Can't you ..."

Minerva placed her hands on Alastor's to calm and restrain him. And leaned in hard then. Over her shoulder, she said to the Matron, "Go on. Leave me the dose. I'll settle Alastor down. We'll manage. You tend to the others."

But as Poppy put the medicines on a cart across the way, she doubted the Headmistress sounded very hopeful about her prospects.

Minerva could feel the man under her touch start to shake. The tremors became more fierce then. "We need to treat this, Alastor! It's your nerves. All through you. Damn it! You need to take this potion. You need to..." She was shouting at the poor man, she realized. In her fear over losing him, she was fighting with him. And the more she did, the more violently he shook.

And she saw the her mistake with simple clarity. "Shhh. Forgive me," she told him quickly. "We'll leave here. Let me get you to our quarters." He grunted in what must have been relief and the tremors began to subside some. But he was in incredible pain, she could tell. Hurting to the point where reality was not always with him.

Drawing her wand, she levitated him, bed and all, without further preamble. With him floating above the confusion they were out the doors of the infirmary and through the castle to her quarters.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

When Hermione finally looked up into Severus' face, she saw the scar Voldemort had given him. No longer red and jagged, it was silver now. After months of dominating his face, today it was just a fine line, like a dueling scar across his cheek. "It's all over," she said. "It feels like it's been my whole life, this fight... and it's done?"

She put a hand to his cheek. He nodded slowly into her hand in response to her question.

"Done," he managed in a broken voice. And he tipped his head back to rest it against the wall. Then he stretched his legs out. Finally, taking it all in, Hermione smiled at the unlikely picture Severus made of his former self.

"Where is Gundi?" he managed sounding pained.

"With Professor Flitwick," she answered cautiously. She raised careful fingers then to near the bruising on his neck. He grunted and pulled a tiny bit away. "Filius insisted," she continued. "I swear. But what happened to you?"

He shook his head stiffly but would not answer. That would have to wait, she saw. So Hermione went on with her story.

"Filius is walking around the castle somewhere right now with Gundi strapped to him. I think... well, I think Filius enjoys being with the baby. I mean, dirty diapers are nothing to a Charms man like him. And nothing helps shrink your world down like a baby."

From the look on his face, it was clear Severus did not understand.

"There is a lot to do when you are taking care of the baby, and it can quickly become all you think about," she explained.

After resting together in that unseemly tangle on the floor for another minute, Severus prompted her to get up. He configured a sorry, broken cart into a small settee and they sat down together again. He removed the partition so that Filius would be able to find them when he returned with the baby, and the Matron immediately appeared.

Without hesitation, Poppy walked forward and demanded, "Let me take a better look at your throat now, Severus." She gently palpated his neck with her finger tips as she held the wand close to the bruises there. "So, there is some stridor. Hoarseness. But no crepitus, I take it, Severus? But then that hallmark of disruption to the aerodigestive tract is noted in only one third of cases, I've found."

Hermione felt her brow crease in reaction to the unfamiliar vocabulary.

Severus then (against all bets the Matron would have laid) laughed. It was an excruciating, choked laugh, and Madam Pomfrey begged him not to repeat it as it looked so painful.

"What is so funny? Not that I want you trying to talk before I heal this," Poppy demanded.

"I think he enjoys it when a word comes up which I clearly don't know," Hermione sagely assessed.

"We will fix this easily enough with some inhalation therapy," Poppy said as she looked back and forth from Severus to Hermione. Clearly, she was assessing them as a couple in this new light. "Wait here," the Matron finally said.

/ / / / / / / / /

The inhalation therapy behind him, Severus quickly led Hermione out of the Infirmary.

"Who is back there, Severus? She's put the serious cases in that back room. Is it Remus?" Hermione said with realization.

"He isn't well," Snape said simply.

The young witch turned to face the infirmary doors again, as if she would burst back through.

"Stop, you can't go to him. You can't save the world. Not everyone. He has a wife. He has a healer standing by his bedside. He isn't even conscious. You are going to have to wait... like the rest of the world."

"It is more difficult. Because he is a werewolf, it's dangerous to be in a weakened state," she said needlessly. "You have to make sure he has enough wolfsbane."

"Control yourself," he said with strong hands to her arms. "I've done what I could. I've given them all I had brewed. I will see what they require, for all their patients, as soon as I set my lab to rights. Now stop."

"Tell me he will be alright," she insisted childishly.

"He is not going to be all right, Hermione. He is likely never going to be the same. Because, sometimes there is nothing, just nothing we can do." He didn't say the words unkindly. In fact, they were among the gentlest words he had ever spoken, but they still stung like body blows.

She staggered a touch and turned her head as if hoping the truth could be dodged.

Severus searched for the words that could help Hermione focus on what he wanted, and he came up with the ones she had said not long ago. "You need to let your world get a little smaller ... just for tonight," Severus told her after a long pause. "Let go of everyone else's pain. Find Filius and Gundi and go home to the Hogshead."

"What about you? I want to be with you."

"Poppy needs me. I'm a one man apothecary," he told her tensely.

"I want to stay..." she protested.

"Not in my quarters," he growled. "I won't have there be one whisper that you've tucked yourself back in where you've spent the past year."

She was confused. And she struggled to get passed the emotions and understand him. After everything, did he really think her reputation cold be further sullied because of a few nights spent in his rooms?

She groaned and looked up at the ceiling to find some measure of composure. He answered her unspoken question then.

"When I get a chance, I'll come to you."

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

"Who's here? Send them away," Alastor growled.

Minerva motioned for the house elf to depart her bedroom and then took a step closer to Moody. "There is no one else here, Love. You can stop being so damn brave and so damn stubborn."

"Tell me, Minerva. I can't tell what's wrong. It all hurts so badly. Even the things I lost hurt. Have I lost the other leg? What?"

"Nothing, Alastor," she told him firmly.

"But it hurts so, Minerva." the old Auror said through clenched teeth.

"It's the nerves, Alastor. Let me help you sleep. Please, you need to heal."

"No. I don't want to..."

"Tell me why, make me understand," she said with some frustration.

"I'm afraid," he admitted. He moaned then, "It hurts so."

"We're alone. And you are safe with me, old man. Do you trust me?"

"I love you," he said, through gritted teeth. "I do trust you."

"Then I need you to take this, because you are everything to me. The first thing I think of when I wake up and the last thought I have before I go to sleep. Please, Alastor." And she pulled his hand in until it lay on her chest.

"I can't take the potion, Minerva." He shook his head then.

"Because you can't let guard down that long? Can't be that vulnerable?"

He nodded.

Minerva took a steady breath then, relieved that she had discovered the root of the problem. "I'll sit here, Alastor. Right here. Poppy wants you under for 3 days, but I'll wake you in one, and we will take it from there. I will not leave you. I swear it."

"You have the castle to take care of," he protested.

"I have had this God damn castle for 40 years, Alastor Moody," she said with her cheeks aflame. "Let someone else have it for a week. Because I am going to do whatever it takes to see you through this. Now or hours from now, I will be here waiting for you to trust me and drink this."

He nodded once then, and she held the vial to his lips without hesitation as if afraid he would change his mind. Moody drank it down with determination and then clawed at the sheets as if to get a hold of something that could keep him rooted. Minerva could see it was the fear in him.

She pried one large hand from the bed linens and held in it both of hers.

"Don't fight it, shhh. It's all right," she coo'd. "I'll not go. I love you. Oh, my sweet, sweet man."

Once Minerva could feel his grip on her slacken, and knew he was finally unconcious, she took one step backwards and called out for her house elf.

"Dalia!" Minerva whispered tensely. After a pause, she tried again. "Dalia!" she called out.

"Yes, Mistress. So sorry, Mistress. Things are busy," the small thing moaned.

"I know," Minerva replied, placing a rare hand of consolation on the house elf's arm. "Please tell Madam Pomfrey that Alastor Moody is resting in my quarters. And, please, tell the heads of house that I will be here for the next 24 hours. They must come to me, if they need anything."

The old witch turned then and took up her place by Alastor's bedside.

%%%%%

Thanks, Sel


	61. Chapter 61

_**A/N: I know it would be great if Hermione was down in the dungeons brewing potions with Snape. Lots of fics I've read have that as the typical post-battle fare. But my Hermione is (unfortunately?) constrained by my post partum history. Having just had Gundi less than 3 weeks ago, she is finding she is not of much use to anybody, other than the baby. And she is placing a cushioning charm on every sitting surface.**_

_**For those who felt I had slammed Ron mercilessly earlier, here is his finest hour.**_

_**You folks have been the best of readers. Thank you. My life has gotten very strange of late what with working nights. But I still have you... sniff**_

* * *

Ron had been in the infirmary when Hermione had burst in. She had never even registered that he was there, he knew. He looked up from what he was doing to watch her. Down again to fix a bandage and then up once more to gage her progress across the room. She was heading straight for Snape. That horrid old professor was the only thing she had eyes for.

Later, he took a cup of tea from Madam Pomfrey and sat on an exam table across from her. The two had worked for hours, what amounted to a day together, on the wounded. Ron had stayed and defended the Infirmary, although it was clear that at the time, he had wanted to leave and find the bigger fight.

Poppy shook her head to dispel the chills she got just thinking about what would have happened if he had left. She was not sure if the young wizard was supremely gifted with an understanding of the enemy, possessed second sight, or if he had gotten extremely lucky. But he had shifted from defending the room's doors to a position near the windows in time to prevent the attempted entry there.

Their reluctant defender had then stayed on even as they got word that the battle in the Great Hall was over. Ron had seemlessly shifted into the role of hospital porter, and within an hour of the battle ending he was taking medical direction from Poppy and handling the most minor cases. The Matron found that Ron was a very steady sort when it came to the blood and gore of the job. She knew he hadn't always been so calmly disaffected as a boy. But this war and this battle had asked a great deal of everyone, and many had grown up too quickly under those demands.

She had thanked him at one point for his help, and she had seen then that he seemed to have no idea that what he possessed was a rare talent. His composure and his work had been quite rightly derailed while he recovered from the shock of his brother's death. But once he set himself back to his tasks, his composure then had not even suffered when he had seen Miss Granger plow through the doors and head for Snape. Madam Pomfrey had noticed that; she had been prepared for Ron to abandon his job at the sight of the girl.

But he hadn't, Poppy thought now with a smile.

She motioned for him now to finally drink the tea he was holding, and she told him, "You did well."

He only shrugged. "There was a lot to do," he said quietly. "I'm glad I was able to do it."

"Not just anyone could have done all this you know. Helping the wounded is not for everyone. And you managed it, even with your parents lying in this ward... even when Miss Granger came through.

He looked away then. "I guess I finally figured out it was true. That her decisions just didn't have anything to do with me."

"Those two had me completely fooled, I'll tell you that! They played their parts so well that I stood here in this room and leveled my wand at that man. I threatened him with grievous bodily harm if he tried to get near Miss Granger." She laughed then a touch cynically. "And that was what the lot of them wanted. What they needed from me. Dumbledore, McGonagall. They needed me, and through me, the newspapers and everyone out there, to believe that Snape was a despicable bastard who had lured that girl down a horrible path."

"But it was all just Dumbledore's plan. Just faked."

"Not all of it is faked. Not now," the old witch said gently.

Ron looked up at the ceiling then to try to focus on staying calm. Then he looked down again at his blood stained trousers and potion splattered shoes.

"No, maybe not all faked," he said, levelly. "You figure she's really in love with him then?"

"Whether it was the emotion of the day or something that will last, I don't know. But there is no doubt, she was beside herself with worry over that man."

Ron took the time to let that unlikely statement sink in. Then he asked, "And him?"

"Oh, there's no telling with him. But I don't believe he mistreated her or even led her on. I don't believe he ever did anything other than protect her as best he could once she got herself ensconced in the headmaster's plan."

Ron put the empty tea cup down and pushed off from the exam table then. There were tons of patients to check on here. His parents among them. And he liked that when he stayed busy taking care of other people's problems and wounds that he did not have time to think of his own.

/ / / / /

It did not make Hermione happy to admit, but Severus had been right. There really was so little she could do at the castle. She did try to be of use. She visited Hogwarts at least every other day. She would leave Gundi with Filius or Severus usually. Although she felt as if she could have left the baby with almost anyone. There was never a shortage of arms reaching for the boy.

She had visited her wounded friends. She felt she would never come to the end of persons to whom she must offer condolences. Ron had been civil, but subdued when she saw him. He seemed so serious now. And somehow stoic. She hugged him, but he went all stiff at the contact.

But her forays out were short. Gundi needed her like clockwork. Feedings, changes, burpings, and rockings. He wanted to nap, to eat. He wanted to be dry. And neither she nor the boy coped well, when these things were attempted while on the go.

Her body felt merely horrid on a good day, as if things had been completely realigned. And on a bad day, her back ached and her breasts swelled to the point of being incredibly uncomfortable. It was a ridiculously fine day when she got a shower and a nap, and when food found its way to her. And if Gundi was able to keep most of his food down.

Coffee. A simple, hot cup of coffee, not thrice reheated with her wand was Hermione's current fantasy. By the time she got to her coffee every day, it had always gone cold it seemed.

When she was back at the inn, she still got out at least a little every day, if only because Aberforth insisted. She would come and sit in the inn. She would push the boy about in a pram everywhere. Out on the sidewalk. Down to the corner and then all through the inn. Even into the kitchen to watch Aberforth supervise the dinner. It was not that Aberforth was a surrogate parent to the boy, more that he supported Hermione unconditionally. And that was a rare thing, Hermione could tell.

Every night Severus came by. As tired looking as when he had been a double agent. He had Poppy to help. Minerva to help. The school's dungeons to fix. And those horrid camps of Voldemort's to dismantle.

As the first week, post-victory ended, there were interrogations at the hands of the Aurors and Unspeakables in London. Albus had kept his actions secret, and had taken it all to the grave with him. His portrait was not trusted. If Minerva had not been alive to vouch for Severus, the potion master would have been locked up. As it was, he was barely trusted. Certainly, not understood. Whether he was working for Albus' version of a greater good or not, he had come out with too much blood on his hands to seem truly innocent. And there was the matter of the Head Girl's pregnancy and mock defection.

Why had he ever agreed to such a thing, they wanted to know. And really, all he could tell those desk berks was that if you were not in the room when the decision had to be made, if you had never felt the sting of Dumbledore's whip on you in the same day that Voldemort had promised to kill you, then you really could not begin to judge the decisions he had made.

But his interrogators did judge him. Apparently, that was their job as appointed by the Wizengamot. They found his morality lacking. But (and this seemed to bother them a great deal) they could not find a statute they could prosecute him under.

The post-war world was full of more surprises than that though. Minerva had not only managed the castle from Alastor's bedside, she had proposed to the man. And the proposal had been accepted. Alastor had wanted to wait until he was well, at least until he was out of bed. But Minerva had insisted as only she could. And looking at those eyes, Alastor found it nigh on impossible to deny her anything.

Seamus was there for the ceremony at Alastor's request. Shacklebolt presided. No one dressed formally other than the bride, although Alastor did wear fresh, striped pajamas as he sat propped up on pillows he had charmed to the color of his love's eyes. The staff merely trickled into the Headmistress' quarters from their assignments at the appointed time; they made the transition from solemn to joyful in the process.

/ / / / / / / / /

During what should have been Minerva's honeymoon, Severus had gone to the Infirmary to find the Headmistress. She would be there visiting with the wounded and their families he knew. She was every afternoon. He saw her across the room and kept his distance. Minerva was holding Tonks and the pair was swaying slightly with the fatigue of their vigil. But Severus, ever the spy and the observer, found that Tonks looked faintly hopeful as the two women pulled apart. There was a small smile on the woman's lips. And Severus discovered that the possibility of good things affected him, caused some sympathetic flutter in him, where he knew he had been a man unaffected before.

When Minerva turned for the door, she saw Severus there. His stance was a question to her, a signal she had seen many times over the years. He stood like that, his hands behind his back, one leg slightly in front of him as if prepared to grant a bow, whenever he was asking for an audience with her.

Minerva nodded as she approached, and he walked to get the door for her. They managed their walk to her quarters in silence.

"I've finished everything Poppy could think to ask of me," he stated plainly. "I am no more use here."

"Don't say that," the old witch insisted. Minerva was obviously pained by his words.

"Hermione needs me," he continued more quietly. "That's where I'll be. She's ... having some trouble."

Minerva stepped closer to face him more squarely now. The question plain on her face.

"It's nothing," he amended. "Nothing in the larger scheme of things. It is the shock and the grief of this past week. And I think it makes it difficult for her to relax and nurse?" he said avoiding her eyes over this topic. "This, oddly enough, was Aberforth's observation, as Hermione is trying not to trouble me. So, the boy is cranky and..." It must be the fatigue, he decided, with a hand to his head. Or some strange truth serum Minerva employed in the air of this room. He had the most disturbingly revealing conversations here.

"Yes, and having a hungry, cranky baby just exacerbates the problem... when that's the case," Minerva said, rescuing him from the rest of the sentence.

"Yes."

"You get that midwife in Hogsmeade if things don't get better, Severus. And we will send for you no sooner than tomorrow afternoon if we need more potions. But otherwise... It may seem that suddenly fewer people rely on you, Severus. But there are none more important than Hermione and that boy... of yours," Minerva deliberately added.

... ...

The situation with Hermione needing to relax enough to better nurse forced Severus into two strange situations. The first was that he should listen to any sort of advice on the matter from a goat-tending, inn keeper. The second, that he was actually then acting on that advice.

Severus sent Hermione into the shower as Aberforth had suggested. While she was gone, he held and tried to calm the boy in business-like fashion. Severus used his wand to clean the room and bed as best he could while he paced with Gundi. And when Hermione returned, he pulled down the covers of the bed and lay Gundi down, stroking the boy's stomach instinctively to keep him calm.

"Come lie down with us, Hermione." She was stunned by the words, never having heard them before. Severus Snape was not much of an "us" man. "Nox," he called with a quick lift of his wand and then he kicked off his boots and returned his attentions to Gundi.

She crawled into bed, putting herself on her side between them. Gundi started to fuss immediately, obviously wanting to be fed, Severus could see. Hermione started to tense, "I'm still not very good at this," she complained. And Severus whispered behind her. "Shhhh, you needn't do it all yourself. Relax. I know where everything is."

"You do?" she asked, smiling faintly now.

"His mouth is fairly evident. Now _**where**_ is that placket and the meal that lies within?" Between the two of them they maneuved things. The boy latched on perfectly for a change and Hermione relaxed into her pillow with a satisfied sigh.

"If nursing is so natural," she mused, "why does it take three hands to get him to latch on correctly?" Soon, she could feel the milk let go. "That's a happy baby," she said to the boy. "Is this a scientific observation?" she then asked the Potions Master who was peering over her shoulder and smoothing her nightgown over her.

"Idle curiosity as I found myself otherwise not engaged," he said. He stopped then removing his hand from her nightgown. "_**You**_ are wet. And not in that way we used to find so alluring and enjoyable," he teased.

"Shhhhh. don't disturb him. I can't help it. It's been so long since I've had the milk really just let go the way it is suppose to. Both breasts have just gone at once. Just ignore it, if you will," she said with a little giggle.

He had missed that. The simple laugh. He'd thought he had lost that and the lightness in her.

"He's asleep. The boy is eating in his sleep," he remarked with amazement. And just then Gundi's suckling slowed to a stop and he turned his head just barely away.

/ / / / /

Filius couldn't stand to have Pomona apologize to him. She felt somehow it was weakness that she continued to find her way to his quarters every night since the battle. "Even if you aren't here," she told him when he found her there one night. "I just do better here. Knowing you've been here. That sooner or later, you'll be back. I just can't be alone," she admitted softly and with some sense of shame.

That first night she had just walked for his bed as she came through his door. "It's late, Filius. Lie down with me, please. I need to be with you. Just _**with**_ you, you understand..." She wanted him to know she wasn't asking for sex.

"I do know," and he had pulled the covers back for her and watched her climb in.

"Will it get better? Easier?" she wanted to know. They had buried two of their colleagues that day, Professors Vector and Sinistra.

"It has to," he told her.

"Do you mind me being here? Being so horribly weak?" she wondered.

"I _**need**_ you here," he assured her. But really, he was so incredibly numb, he didn't know what he needed at all.

"Even though its just to hold?"

"Yes," he told her, nodding into her neck as he spooned behind her. "Just to hold." And then as a bit of peace settled over him, he whispered to her, "Thank goodness you're here."

With the battle looming just as they began their courtship, they had still never consummated it. And here they were in a staid, placid middle distance, Filius thought. Comfortable together. Weak together. Lacking the strength or the will to hide their imperfections as a new couple ordinarily might. They had come to all of this without that early stage. Without the posturing. Without the heedless sex and the guarded talk.

"But we'll get back," Filius said thinking out loud. "We'll wake up from this nightmare and ..."

"Everything will be all right?"

"Sounds like such foolishness to say such a thing, doesn't it?" he confessed in a whisper.

"No," she lied. She turned in his arms then and kissed him slowly. With incredible deliberation and care. He hummed sleepily, and she laid the last kiss on his forehead. "Sleep, sweet man. Sleep."

/ / / / / /

Hermione was being quiet over their dinner. She sat at the small table in her room and pushed her food around like some doleful child. Every task she had set herself to do since the Battle of Hogwarts, every letter of condolence, every visit to a wounded friend, was complete. And so he knew what she had left to do.

So, when she finally looked up, he told her, "You have to see your parents."

"I know," she protested.

"I talked with Minerva. She'll take you, reverse the spells that have altered their memories."

"Alastor's well enough then?" Hermione asked.

"For Minerva to be gone a few hours? Alastor's begging her to go. He can't take anymore coddling."

"We'll go then."

"You don't sound enthusiastic," he assessed flatly.

"My parents knew nothing of the pregnancy," she said with rising pique. "They just got bundled off in the middle of the night. I don't really know how much of anything they understand. But they are _**not**_ expecting the reunion to involve a grandchild, I am fairly certain."

Severus knew his role was to listen. There wasn't a single thing that could ease this for her...

Still, he heard himself say, "Hermione?" Because he suspected there might be one thing. The hesitancy gave him away.

"No," she said, nearly laughing at his discomfort. "I'm not going to ask you to go with me to hold my hand and get me through this."

She seemed so utterly self assured in that moment and that bouyed him.

"In my absence," he said with a wry half smile, "you can feel free to lie about his parentage."

"Oh, I had planned on it!" she teased. "I just don't know the proper lie. What is the most palatible to the average, middle-age professional couple? That their daughter allowed her self to be artificially impregnated? Or that she got pregnant in some more pedestrian, but no less ill-advised manner?"

"They might find it ... refreshingly normal that their bright, hard-working overachiever failed in some way."

"Oh, brilliant," she said with good natured sarcasm. "Yes, I think you are on to something, I am sure the first word that springs to their minds will be 'refreshing.' "

"Don't Muggle girls occasionally blame this occurrence on alien abduction?" he teased.

"Well, finally, you are suggesting something useful!" She laughed.

... ... ... ...

"I'm going to tell them that I fell in love with you," Hermione whispered into his shoulder later that night. "That I was afraid something horrible would happen to you, so I let getting pregnant happen."

"You needn't protect me from them. If they need someone to blame..." he said with level practicality.

"But this is the truth... just in a different order. I let it happen. I worried something horrible would happen. And I fell in love with you."

He shook his head in disbelief, but said nothing. What was it that amazed him the most? That she was so resilient? Or that she loved him?

/ /


	62. Chapter 62

_**A/N: Thank you all for reading and reviewing. And Happy Thanksgiving! **_

_**I got a surprise in my email recently. And it was a very lovely surprise. Someone has nominated ALL I HAVE TO DO for The Deathly Hallows Award: BEST WORK IN PROGRESS. **_

_**Check out all the hoop la at deathlyhallowsawards dot blogspot dot com More on this as I figure out what it all means!  
**_

_**And it would be really, really great if a few of you could vote for this story so that I do not suffer the humiliation of finishing with no votes. Voting begins on December 10th. My mother plugs her ears and sings every time I mention that I write fanfiction, so I do not think I can even count on HER vote. **_

_**Thomas' story in this chapter is adapted from one I read at: dubdubdub dot firstpeople dot us **_

* * *

They had a plan, Hermione and Minerva did. Minerva would go to the house where she had placed Hermione's parents, remove the spells, and then transport the Grangers back to their old home.

It didn't work, however. At the point where the spells were removed and Minerva needed the couple to trust her and simply return with her by Exaggerated Side Along Apparition (two people transported by one), the pair balked.

"Come along," Minerva chided, sounding entirely too Mary Poppins-ish for all in the room. "You trust me, of course."

"Like hell," James Granger assessed. He was still rubbing the side of his head, trying to ease the ache brought on by having a 9 months old, altered personality removed from his brain.

"I just thought you'd like to do this reunion in your own house," Minerva said with an impatient smile.

"I don't remember much still, but I do remember that I hate being... jerked around," Mrs. Granger ground out.

/ / / / / / / /

It all went even further down hill from that inauspicious beginning. Hermione was waiting at her old house. She was there in the cold, dark little place, pacing the living room. The plan (that plan which was currently crashing into the ground) was that Hermione would hand off the baby to Madam Hooch who had flown them here under the cover of darkness. And then she would walk into her parents' kitchen and slowly and carefully explain everything.

Only her parents would not budge from that new brownstone they currently occupied. This message came to Hermione and Rolanda when a very rosy-cheeked and put-out looking Minerva Apparated to the deserted Granger home.

"Fine kettle of fish..." was all the Headmistress would say out loud. A few more inventive invectives seemed to be lurking under her breath, however.

"They aren't coming," Hermione assessed with a sigh.

"Exactly, and very unsatisfactorily, so."

"I don't know that I blame them. Not that I know what it is like to have memories removed like that..." the young mother said.

So, Hermione went to them. And things went from bad to worse. She walked in with the baby - which was never the plan at all. In a scene which she never hoped to see repeated in all her life, she was forced to witness her mother clutching her chest and sinking into a chair. Her father began crying in a fit of disappointment and anger.

And that was before she admitted who the father of the black haired little boy was.

There were the usual, predictable objections, which being a logical sort, Hermione had to admit seemed valid on the surface.

She really had not known Severus Snape very well before she had launched into parenthood with him.

He was a great deal older. Her former professor. And a proud misanthrope.

He was undeniably given to periods of moroseness, arrogance, and temper.

His appearance under current circumstances was sure to ruin any Muggle family portrait.

It only took a quick look around to see that Severus would not mesh with things Granger.

When Hermione tried to change the topic of conversation and get Gundi's grandparents to at least hold him, they declined. They needed time, they told her, to adjust. It felt like the air had left the room at precisely that moment.

So, with a sad look at her watch, Hermione realized that it had taken only 10 minutes for her former life to smash into an irretrievable heap. And she and the boy stuck themselves to Madam Hooch's broom and performed an indiscrete exit from the suburban neighborhood. Madam Hooch was mad enough at the reception Hermione had gotten that she buzzed the house upon leaving. With a look over her shoulder, Rolanda had to admit that in the time that it had taken the Grangers to ruin the reunion, she had fallen in love with their grandchild.

To make matters worse for Hermione, Severus was not at the inn when she returned. She needed love and consolation, and what she got instead was a simple note propped up on the table explaining that he had been needed back at Hogwarts. Being Severus, that was all it said.

_Needed at Hogwarts. S._

As if the inclusion of his whole name was suddenly too much commitment.

The former Head Girl mentally reviewed her day and decided the sensible thing to do seemed to be tea and copious tears. Hermione promptly indulged. She drained one pot and soaked two pillow cases.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / /

The American pair stood in the castle's entrance and watched the steady activity. There was a daily flow of students leaving the building since the battle. Trunks were continually floating by. Parents and relations were arriving with worried faces and walking out with their children tucked under a protective arm.

"What about you? What are you going to do? Where are you going to go?" Thomas wanted to know of Ellie. He knew she had a difficult decision ahead of her.

"I don't know past the next week or two. But I'm going to go with Seamus for now," she said resolutely. "He wants to go home and see his parents, and he wants me to go with him. He might be sort of ...attached to me." Thomas crooked an admonishing eyebrow at her and she recanted. "Okay. So, he is taking this very seriously, this relationship thing. And I'm not really up to speed, but I can't walk away from it either. It doesn't make sense, me and him. I'm 8 years older. He's fresh out of school..."

Thomas smiled a touch and sighed. "You don't have to tell me about things that make no sense. Or about not being able to walk away..."

"Hooch still won't give you the time of day?"

"We got along fine. There was a... well, a connection," he admitted, "all throughout the battle. And right after. We worked together like clockwork. Perfect. Totally in synch," he said. "Until I told her how I felt. Not that I explained it well."

"You probably shouldn't have mentioned the whole Hawk and Coyote mythological sex-capade thing," she told him with a coy smile.

He breathed a laugh at his own expense. "I'll figure it out. Or she'll figure it out. Just... keep in touch, Ellie. I don't know if I understand everything that has happened here. It's as if it still hasn't gelled in my head..."

"We'll talk soon," she assured him. She wrapped her arms around him for an exaggerated hug and then walked back up the steps to find Seamus.

/ / / /

A few days after Hermione's meeting with her parents, Aberforth approached her. He picked up Gundi and paced with him while he talked. "I think you should move," he said without preamble.

"What brought this on?"

"An inn's no place for a baby. Too many stairs. Too many drunks. No place nice and quiet for you to sit outside." He paused then before launching into what sounded like a practiced sales pitch. "Hermione, there is a cottage just on the outskirts of town. The owners are going to the continent. They want to rent it out, maybe sell it. I told them you'd take it."

"Aberforth!"

"You know I'm the executor of my brother's will..."

"And did he bequeath you my _**life**_ to manage?" Hermione demanded.

"Hermione. I mean there is money. Albus left you and the boy... enough for a good start. That's all I'm saying. And I want to see that you get that good start. The cottage is sweet. I had to grab it while I could." His tone was so soft and apologetic that she found she was forgiving him already. "If you don't like it, I'll help you find something else..."

She and Aberforth went to see the place, and she had to admit she liked it. There were three small bedrooms and a sunny sitting room. The yard was big enough to enjoy, but not the sort that would be a burden to care for.

She even mentioned the cottage to Severus. And as much as she wanted to ask Severus what he actually thought of her moving, she didn't. It all sounded too much like she was asking him to move in with them, to play house, to act like a proper family. And somehow she couldn't do that. Somehow that was presumptuous. As if that spoke of an assumption about the future that would turn out to be mistaken.

What she didn't quite understand was how could _**anything**_ seem presumptuous after they had shared so much. The sex, her virginity, the danger, a small baby.

He did volunteer that living in the inn was not a long term solution and that another place was a good idea. For her.

Taking the cottage, more than anything, showed her that the relationship had not moved forward. The idea that the new place could be somewhere for both of them to live did not seem to even occur to the potion master.

/ / / / / / / / / / /

Thomas knew he couldn't stay much longer. What excuse was there possibly? Now that the fight was over, Minerva had the help she had needed all along. The more timid among the Wizarding community rallied to help with the castle and its security. Its restoration, the wounded and the dead, all suddenly received attention from a slew of bureaucrats, fervent volunteers and hangers on.

But Thomas wouldn't leave, _**couldn't**_ leave, until he understood what it was that bothered him so much about Rolanda. What he sensed from her.

'Bothered' was not at all the right word, he knew.

_Enchanted. Enthralled._

_Those were so much closer._

He knocked on her door and waited. When she opened it, he said merely, "Rolanda."

"You aren't calling me 'Hawk' anymore?" she replied, trying to sound short tempered.

"You don't like it."

"Points to you for being a bit smart."

He angled forward as if he would come through the door, but she stilled him with a hand to his chest.

"Please, Rolanda."

"Please what?" she whispered hoarsely. "What could you possibly want?"

He was looking at her curiously then.

"Don't answer that on second thought. Just go away."

"I need to understand this before I go back to the States. I won't be able to rest unless I do. I dream about you."

"Oh, you have it bad, kid," Rolanda said, projecting a disaffected air.

"Not like that. In this dream there is fire. Smoke. There are answers to the things we want to know, but I can't get them. And you are there on the other side from where I am. Dressed in robes. Native robes. Your eyes..." And he reached for her, but she dodged his touch.

She was flushed now. She took a step backwards and closed the door on him.

"Damn," he muttered. He turned his back to the door and lowered himself to the floor. She would probably have to come out sooner or later. And when she did, hopefully he would have a better approach figured out.

But what if he had to figure this connection out on his own? What did he have to go on? Only the way he felt, his dreams, and the tales he had grown up with.

"Let me tell you a story," Thomas said to the door. He spoke softly, but he had no doubt she could hear him. "Tell me if you have heard something like this before."

...

"There was a woman of supernatural powers," Thomas began. "She was wachwach, a beautiful species of hawk. When Coyote and the Wolf arrived at the bird woman's door to court her on a late summer evening, they found many others were there already. The Weasel, the Stag, and the best and the strongest from miles around had dressed themselves finely in order to marry her. But she would not have it. After some time, their patience wore out. All of them said, 'Let us go home.' They went. All except Coyote who lay there by her door. He was apparently sick with fever and chills, and too weak to walk.

"The woman said, 'You go, too.'

"Coyote protested, 'You can see I am not well. I cannot possibly go. Perhaps later I will be able.'"

"Is that what you want?" Hooch demanded through the door. "That you get in here through trickery?

"I prefer perseverance. Devotion. Understanding. You deserve someone to honor you," Thomas countered.

"Honor? Oh, that's a likely euphemism."

"It is just a very full word," he told her. He could not prevent his smile and he was sure she would hear it in what he said.

"Trickery," Rolanda replied after swallowing hard. She gave up her pacing and pressed her head to the door.

Thomas cleared his throat before continuing.

"Then the woman made a fire inside the house. Coyote thought how he might get in. He, too, had supernatural power. What if he caused the wind to blow the house to pieces. He said, "Blow!" and a wind storm came. It began to tear at the house.

"The woman ran about trying to fix her house, but could not. Then Coyote said, 'Give me your tarp and some binding and I will tie it.'

"'You wouldn't help me,' the woman protested."

"Rolanda?," Thomas said then. "Perhaps the Coyote has no reassurance to offer. But I have already stood by you," Thomas whispered, injecting himself into the story. "And I would do it again." He got no answer, so he continued.

"Even to save her house, she did not want to touch him..." the American continued.

"Why?" Rolanda interrupted without thinking.

"You tell me," Thomas prompted gently.

Hooch thought of all the answers. That the Coyote was dirty. Mangy. Dangerous. But the real one came to her. _Because then he would know, she thought. There would be no hiding how she felt once they touched._

"She overcame her worry and handed the tarp and cord to him. Now it was dark and raining. Coyote said, 'I cannot sleep here. Let me sleep inside. Give me just the corner by the door.' But she would not let him. He said, 'I will die then. If you wish me to freeze to death let me lie here.'

"Finally, she allowed him to come in, and he lay near the door, shivering. She knew what he wanted. She could hear the words in his head. He was thinking, 'I want to sleep with her.' And so she told him, 'No, you cannot be with me. You are no good.'

"Coyote laughed. 'How does she know what I _**think**_?' he wondered."

"I heard it," Hooch and Thomas said in unison.

Thomas smiled up at the hallway's ceiling before continuing.

"Coyote lay there and looked over towards her. He said nothing, but the woman demanded of him, 'What do you want now?' Then Coyote began to call it all to mind... to think in such a way that she could best share his thoughts. He thought of how he would honor her. Please her. She did not like that. She was stronger than he and overcame his mind. He could not do anything to her while she rejected him. So, he went to sleep where he lay. Then at last the woman began to think of _**him**_. At once Coyote knew it, even in his sleep. He woke up and said, 'You want me? I promise I am worth wanting.'

"She desired him too much now, and so she let him lie down beside her. Although she allowed him into her bed, she would not let him press nearer. She wanted once more to try to overcome her want of him."

Thomas took a breath then and prepared to finish.

"It isn't a story!" Rolanda yelled back through her door. She groaned then. "It's a prophecy, one I thought I had dodged."

"So, you have heard this all before?"

"Go away," the witch insisted weakly.

"You have sent all men away to avoid me?"

He thought about whether or not to continue then. And felt the words trip off his tongue before he had fully decided.

"They married," Thomas said. "And Coyote had one son from this woman. Wech, the condor, who was to become a great gambler."

"Your son will be a reckless Wizard..." Rolanda filled in sadly, evidently quoting her prophecy.

"Maybe this new world needs a certain lack of caution, Rolanda? These times might need people who are not concerned solely with their own selves. And those who are afraid to do things often call others reckless or gamblers. We do not know if your prophecy is true. But don't hide from it. Let me in to talk before I have to go back home."

Rolanda believed she could _**feel**_ the American sitting outside her rooms.

"Damn you," she said softly as she opened her door. She didn't give Thomas a chance to react. As he rocked backwards, she grabbed him by the shoulders of his jacket and wrenched him into her rooms. She kicked the door closed after them.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

The Headmistress welcomed Severus into her quarters wordlessly and shut the door carefully behind him.

She would forgo any offer of tea or even a chair before launching into her prepared speech, she knew. Things would be better yet if she merely started this before she even turned around to face him.

"I will tell you I want to point my wand at my own head and just fire away rather than ask you this..." Minerva began in a distressed voice.

"Please," Severus began as if he was all pleasantries. "Feel free to scramble your brain."

"As I was saying. I am loathe to ask, but how are you approaching Hermione about a continuence of this relationship ... Physically, I mean?"

"Approach. Physically?"

Minerva cleared her throat and resolutely held his eyes. "Have you two talked about waiting to have sex." She pulled at her blouse then as if the heat was getting to be too much.

"Talked about sex?" he mimicked like a tall black myna bird.

"God help me, Severus. If you are winding me up, I will pelt you. You haven't reassured her that there is no rush, have you? You haven't even considered that there might be some trepidation on her part, given what certain regions of her body have...

He held up a hand to forestall any description of what those 'certain regions' went through. "The book you gave me did mention such a thing."

"She needs to know that you understand all that, you idiot," came Alastor's voice from the bedroom. "Tell her you are waiting to hear from her. But in the meantime you are eager to ..."

"Moody, if you insist on discussing this, could we do it without yelling between rooms," Severus called out sounding pained.

"Of course, lad. In you come. Pull up a chair!"

Alastor was entirely too happy about this.

/ / / / / / / / / / /

"Minerva and Moody believe it is important that you know that I am not angling for sex," Severus announced to Hermione in place of any normal greeting. He placed the bag of gifts from the old pair on the inn's table for punctuation.

"Hello to you, too." She kissed him quickly while she moved Gundi to the other shoulder. "Hmmmm. It is lovely, isn't it, that they trust us to manage anything." She smiled. Looked at the floor. "The midwife recommended waiting 6 weeks. And that is up in two weeks and..."

"And there is some trepidation on your part. Some worry that it will be painful or just horribly different."

"Yes," she said flatly.

"And every time I am within a few feet of you, you worry I am asking for sex."

"Yes," she admitted.

"God, I hate it when Minerva is right," he moaned.

/ / /


	63. Chapter 63

_**A/N: Voting apparently opens TODAY(ish) at the DEATHLY HALLOWS AWARDS website? That's what the website says... DECEMBER 10th. I haven't checked it out, so your mileage may vary. **_

_**I've put it at as my 'homepage' on my profile in case you are interested in voting. Fanfiction dot net is so pesky about including urls... but here is a garbled one: h ttp:/ deathlyhallowsawards DOT blogspot DOT com/**_

_**This fic ended up being nominated in two categories. One being Best WIP. The other was Best Unusual Pairing. I have so many interesting pairings that I am not sure what my nominee meant here. Perhaps Minerva and Moody. Perhaps it is that whole mythological Hawk and Coyote thing? I am delighted though. Just really, really thrilled. Do you hear me squeeee? **_

_**This chapter marks a return to um, well... sexual content. So, please only read the first half if you are trying to avoid that sort of thing. Because the passage in question is shameless (if I've done it correctly).  
**_

* * *

Once Hermione faced the fact that she had postponed things as long as she could, she and Gundi made the move. She dreaded the feeling that if she set up the place as just for her and the baby that Severus would never move in. She wanted him there from the start, to have him view it as a place they all lived together. And not as a place he merely visited. Perhaps she was asking too much of fate after all she had been gifted?

But couldn't the damn man be sensible, she lamented? There was easily enough room for him. School wasn't in session. The students were all gone. And what was commuting when you were a wizard?

She dropped the hint that she wanted him to actually move in, whether it was partially or temporarily or fully, but he avoided that discussion completely. Finally, she and Gundi took over the cottage as their own. And only theirs. Although he came to visit that first day, Severus refused to imprint anything in the place with his preferences or his taste. The man would not so much as move a coffee mug of his into the cupboard. The process of taking on her first home should have been exciting and wonderful, but he had made it anything but.

Nothing here would let anyone know that he was a part of their lives, he reassured himself as he walked through. There would be nothing of his here. No table, no bookcase, no book even, to remind visitors that he and Hermione had spent their last 9 months entwined. He would place no claim on her the way some men would with a picture here or a favorite chair. He wouldn't work to drive any other man away.

That Hermione had chosen him during the war was one thing. That she actually feel the same way when she had her pick of men was another.

She would have the space she needed to retrieve her previous life.

/ / /

Hermione had finished her last notes of condolence. She had taken possession once again of Crookshanks. Somehow, she had endured the horrific visit to her parents. And she had moved out of the Hog's Head. The last item on her mental to-do list had been the trip to the midwife to have her nethers inspected. And so to speak, declared 'fit for duty.'

"Have you been tempted to have sex again?" the cheery midwife asked.

"Parts of me have," Hermione admitted. "Just not the parts you've been looking at."

The midwife began to chuckle and pulled a pad of paper from her smock. She smiled as she wrote.

"Is this a prescription, then?" Hermione wanted to know.

"Of sorts." She handed it over and as Hermione read it the middle aged witch explained. "A glass of wine will not hurt you or the baby and it just might be enough to relax you. The most important thing on the list is a man who knows what he is doing and is in no hurry. But the list isn't for you. Give it to HIM."

/ / / /

It was predictable, Hermione decided, that the first owl requesting to come to her new house was from Ginny. She was the sensible one. The least wildly emotional. And if this was a group plan on the part of Harry, Ron and the other Weasleys, it was Ginny who was the most likely and neutral emissary.

Hermione refused to prejudge the meeting. And as she opened the door and saw here friend there, she realized how much she had missed the contact. Yes, there had been Aberforth and Minerva and Hooch, but she had missed having someone her age around. A true friend.

And Ginny's enthusiasm pushed any uneasy thoughts away.

"God, it's good to see you, Hermione. To really see you." And the red head hugged her. They had bumped into each other on visits to the castle in those early weeks after the battle, but this was reassuringly different. An actual social visit, Hermione realized. Finally, they could talk without the duty, with out the pain hanging so palpably over them.

Hermione barely got a, "It's good to see you, too," out before Ginny asked to see the baby.

"He's sleeping, but we can peek in," Hermione said with a smile.

As they stood in the doorway to Gundi's room, Hermione asked after her friend's parents and her brothers. The grief over Fred must be nearly unbearable, but the slight girl was being decidedly stoic about it.

"So many people have lost someone," Ginny summed up. "Really, in an extended fashion, we all have. I don't know that it makes it any easier for us to lose him. But it means that we know that people understand."

Hermione nodded. She didn't know what else to do. She walked for the crib and picked up the sleeping boy. Hermione held him out to Ginny then.

"But he's sleeping..." the younger witch protested in a whisper.

"He wants to meet you, I'm sure," Hermione offered.

"I want ... I want life to be simple," Ginny confessed as she looked down at the boy. "I know I'm young to say this, but I wish I didn't have to go back to school. I wish Harry and I could just get married... My mother says the proper thing to do is wait a year. To have a period of mourning."

"That is the tradition, and the Wizarding world is very big on that sort of thing," Hermione soothed.

Ginny sighed and shrugged as a way of acquiescing and saying 'I know.'

"What is Harry doing now?" Hermione asked gently then.

"Adjusting. We made him move out of Grimauld Place and into the Burrow. Separate rooms, I mean..." she said with a girlish smile. "But he was getting sort of scary shut up there by himself. He's aimless now, I suppose."

"There was too much to do... for years. The whole world to save. And now, there's nothing?"

"Exactly," Ginny said.

/ / /

Both Severus and Hermione worked at the plans for their night together. It felt awkward and nerve-racking, knowing it was a planned seduction. Severus was not unaffected by the prospect of this command performance. It was not just that it had been so long since they had been together like this. Or the odd notion that they had never had sex when she wasn't pregnant. There was more. This was the beginning of whatever it was they would find together post-war.

He would never tell her this, but he was courting her, not just coming over to make love to her. This was the beginning of truth, this year of mourning after the Wizarding world's costly victory. Severus discounted any emotions that had occurred or been expressed while they had lived under the threat of death. Now was the test. Let her measure him and what they were together against this new world of possibilities. Could she fall in love with him all over again, so to speak? He doubted it. But a small part of him would not relent, it wondered: was it possible?

He arrived on her doorstep and knocked rather than letting himself in. She called out for him to come in, pinned down by the baby as she was on the couch.

He had everything on the list he had been given. And more. There were two bottles of wine to choose from. There was music. And the last thing he produced had not been on any list. He lay the single sunflower on the table. Not traditional perhaps, but wild and honest and lovely somehow, like her, he had decided. He smiled weakly and thought perhaps she knew... that a red rose would have felt... presumptuous. And that any other rose would have been somehow glaring for the comparison.

With Gundi going off to spend the evening with Filius and Pomona at Hogwart's, Hermione was nursing now... and feeling that touch of guilt at the pending separation that she supposed must be inescapable.

So, despite how happy she was to see him, Hermione looked up at Severus a touch sadly. Severus had expected a different sort of welcome. But he adapted. Once he had revealed everything he had brought with him, he stooped over the back of the couch to kiss her neck repeatedly in greeting. She smiled hard at the sensation and with her surprise. She had been prepared for something perfunctory, something more like the businesslike greetings that new parenthood and fatigue had forced on them. Instead this man seemed to be showing her he saw so much more in her.

"When is someone coming to collect Gundi?" he said, too brusquely.

It was a poor opening line in her mind, and her smile left her.

Rounding the couch, he sank to one knee at her side. "I've said the wrong thing already? I've come across as horribly methodical, when you were hoping for... romantic?" He obviously had struggled with that last word.

"You are trying that hard?"

"Yes," he admitted flatly.

"You missed the sex that much," she asked as half a joke.

He held his words. Scanned her face and reach to touch her then. He traced her lips with one perfect finger and watched her swallow hard. "I've gone without before." And what he hoped she'd hear in his manner was the reality that he found other things much harder to go without.

The knock that came then seemed louder than it was.

He helped her up and followed her to the door, but he stayed to the background then. The potion master was content to let Pomona and Filius fawn over the boy and the new mother without his interference. Filius had even brought a Hogwarts blanket to wrap the baby in for the long walk back to the castle. "We have a lovely pram for him outside," he informed Hermione, his face beaming beyond compare. The small wizards excitement had him rocking onto the toes of his boots and clapping his hands.

/ / / / /

Hermione turned against the closed door and sunk into it once they were alone.

"Is it that hard to see the boy go for a few hours? Or are you that worried about the plans you've made for tonight?" Severus asked.

"Oh, both," she said as she sighed. "Dinner?" she tried then.

"Of course," he answered. But he made no move for the kitchen. Instead, very slowly, as if he was giving her the chance to escape, he leaned in to kiss her.

She smiled as he faded back a minute later to let her breathe. It all reminded her of months ago when they had gone out together. The night that had felt so much like a first date. Tonight as well, there was that care so very apparent in what he was doing. In the way he had dressed. In something as simple as pushing his hair back away from his face.

"Perhaps dinner is unnecessary. But I want my chocolate pie," she teased.

She was jittery, she found. Unable to let him touch her intimately. When his fingers had slid cautiously under the edge of her shirt, she had jumped away with a gasp. Although she desperately wanted his touch, her nerves were evidently against such a thing.

She pushed him on to the couch and sat on his lap, deciding _**she**_ would touch _**him**_ then to overcome her body's nervous reactions. They could ease into this, she was sure. She leaned over him then to get to the wine that was on the table there, and she poured them a glass to share. He hummed appreciatively as she pressed her chest into him in order to reach behind him.

"Lovely," he said absently.

"You haven't even tasted it yet," she teased, pretending he had meant the offer of wine.

She smiled playfully, enjoying what they were doing. Wordlessly, they shared the glass. When he wasn't taking a sip, he would press up with his hips to snug himself against her. And while her hands were free, she would grind into him experimentally. It was a game, slow and delightful. He Accio'd the pie then and she laughed, never having anticipated that they would start with desert or that the pie would be eaten on the couch with them sitting as they were. He lifted the first piece up to her and watched her wet her lips.

"Let me know when you've had enough," he trilled.

She smiled, enjoying how everything had two meanings tonight. "Wicked man," she whispered once her mouth was free of chocolate.

"Yes."

"Do you want a piece?" she asked suggestively.

"I only need a taste," he assured her. And he took that from her mouth, kissing her deeply.

With a low sort of groan, she backed off his lap then and guided him to his feet.

"It doesn't mean I'm not worried," she said once they were standing together, her fingers passing over him. "But I am going to take you to bed now. Dinner be damned."

"There's no rush... unless you tell me there is," he whispered into her neck. With deliberation, he pressed himself against her.

She moaned.

"Keep that up and you will become superfluous," she warned.

"How is that?"

"You'll make me come while we are still standing here," she explained rather shyly.

"Wicked woman," he teased.

"Yes," she told him. "It's like it's the first time," she said then as they walked together for the next room.

"It is ... in some ways," he agreed. _The first time without the shadow of the war or of Dumbledore hanging over them, _Severus decided.

They were in the bedroom now, but she made no move for the bed. She stood in front of him, seeming frozen. "Lie down, let me rub your back," he tried.

"I may fall asleep if you do that," she tried to joke.

"That may hurt my pride a tad, but I could handle it." Looking at him, she realized that what he said was true. She could back out of their plans and he would stay with her, just to hold and touch her tonight.

She began to disrobe, feeling a bit more sure. "Let me," he insisted. And slowly, very slowly, he worked the line of buttons on her top. He paused every few to kiss her, to tease at her skin. To bite at her lips.

"This is going to take all night," she pretended to complain.

"I don't mind," came his liquid answer.

"You don't mind waiting all night?"

"Nothing has to happen tonight, Hermione," he reassured her again. "There's no time table. No rush. No expectations. You'll let me know what you want."

"I want to touch you," she said quite confidently.

He moved his hands to his own shirt then, and she reached for his trouser clasps. He was ridiculously hard already. The pleased noise she made as her hand traced the outline of him earned her a smile and gave him a boost to his untended ego.

His shirt hung open now. And her slender fingers reached to draw him out of his pants.

He groaned. And the sound made her grin. It was all wonderfully familiar, almost comfortable.

She felt powerful that she could quiet him like this. Make him forget speech. Make his eyes shut and his body still.

"You'd best lie down with me," she insisted.

He shed his clothes as he stepped to the bed. He watched quickly then as she did the same.

"There is much about you I do not deserve," he told her once they lay together on their sides. He ran his hand down her arm then and she took up touching him again.

It was her turn to moan. He knew her hips were moving with need, but he did not dare touch her intimately. The few times he had begun to she had started as if her nerves were all overwrought.

"I want this to be perfect," he told her. "Slow and perfect," he explained. So, he put his hand in hers then to have her guide him.

"Oh God," she said meekly as her eyes shut and the forgotten sensations flooded her.

With her controlling his touches, somehow her body reacted properly. She pressed him against her mound and held him there. He groaned and nipped at her ear... and then, he began to move. And now with that experience claiming her, he guessed he could risk his hands on her in a more normal fashion. He gripped her bottom to pull her tighter in against him.

She was rocking with him now. Finding the sensations she wanted. Feeling a swell of pleasure like heat that worked itself through her.

"Oh, Severus," she warned him. "I'll come like this. You feel so good."

He rolled his hips in encouragement. And her breath caught.

She released him then and rolled on to her back. She felt powerful having him answer all her needs. Having him heed her pace. She lifted a knee and arched toward him. "Tease me more," she demanded.

He began by distracting her with his tongue deep in her mouth, reminding her of those delicious rhythms they used to share. She answered, her kisses languid and seductive, showing him how vividly she remembered.

He shifted to bite at her neck, and she was panting now. Keening softly. She reached between them and positioned him.

Somehow, he waited. Licking at her neck now, he held back, hovering patiently. She would let him know when she was ready to take him in. Her hand was on his hip suddenly, and he nearly shook with the restraint it took not to push inside her.

With his tongue to her lips, he teased her again. Showed her. He filled her mind with visions of what it was to have the things you want. To drown in pleasure and the wet of it. To have that tense friction and sweet fullness.

And she pulled him inside. Slowly. So wet and hot, he thought he would die of it.

"Oh, yes," she murmured as if she had gotten an answer she had been searching for.

Still, he didn't move. But he groaned. And that was what she had needed to hear from him, that honest want. Desperately, she had needed to know that she could please him as well now. She had to be sure that there was nothing perfunctory about their coupling.

"Tell me it's still good, Severus?" she begged for reassurance. She pushed up against him.

He began to move then. His eyes held tightly shut. "So good," he echoed.

Careful and precise, he devoted himself to drawing her out. To giving her what the emotion in her breathing asked for.

Her chin tilted back then, and her back arched up as a demanding pleasure coursed through her. "God, Severus. Yes, just like that. Finish me. Please."

He struggled to keep the strokes measured as he watched her face. To take her gently. She wrapped her legs around him then and lifted her hips insistently.

"God, more," she called out. "Oh, now." And with his hand between them and his mouth on hers, he drove her higher until she screamed and went lax. She had dug into his shoulders so harshly. He focused on that pain now, as he waited. He checked his movements. "Come for me," she managed then. "Please. I need to feel it, please."

Had he any tatters of reserve, he would have taken the moment to congratulate himself on having made her beg so earnestly. But he was lost.

She pushed up against him to take him deeper, and he was suddenly and unexpectedly undone.

She knew him so well, she understood his stillness and the silence that followed.

"No," she assured him with a hand to his hair, "it didn't hurt." There was that lightness and a hint of tired laughter in her voice.

They began to drift off then, tangled in that new bed. He gifted her a rare smile and considered the likelihood of success. Not something his personality often allowed.

But was it possible... that an evening could some how speak to a similar future?

"Sleep," he said as much to himself as to her.

/


	64. Chapter 64

_A/N: The end is near! And I mean this in a good way. _

_Thanks for continuing to read this. And thank you for all the reviews and favs and such. I am sorry I have been a poor correspondent where that is concerned. Just know, it makes my day to hear from folks.  
_

_Thanks, Selmak, for your help. Although you may have forgotten helping me with some of this dialog months ago.  
_

_Although I had received an email from the **Deathly Hallows Awards** folks telling me that the two categories AIHTD was nominated under were Best WIP and Most Unusual Pairing, I checked the site and AIHTD is listed under Best Hetero rather than Most Unusual Pairing. _

_Check out all the fun at: deathlyhallowsawards dot blogspot dot com Voting continues for about 6 more days.  
_

_Tons of good fics listed there that if nothing else will give you a reading list to last you till Spring.  
_

_In other news, some people HATE this poor baby's name. Sigh. There is not a whole lot of nick name potential here. And the father's name is Severus. A normal sounding Joe, Mike, or Bob, just is not gonna work in my book. I was going for exotic. Perhaps I went too far? I have considered a nick name that begins with a hard G or hard J? Ends with the same 'ee' sound? _

_Anyone for Johnny? Too pedestrian? Or forget saving the end sound and go with Gideon (with Molly's approval?) Or Gunnar? Gunther? Guy? A hip sounding "G.T." for Gundi and Tovenaar? _

_At this rate, Gundi is starting to sound good. Google it for fun. I have done this too many times to consider it fun any more. But you will find a lot of people out there are using it as a name. Not just rodents._

_We left our couple in bed at the cottage._

* * *

Severus and Hermione napped contentedly until there was a knock at the door.

The sound made the Wizard groan and roll from the bed. He pulled clothing on as he took steps down the hallway. His wand rendered the buttons done. And it banished most of the wrinkles. His hands were then left with the task of pushing at his hair, hopelessly.

But the effort and the knowledge of _**why**_ it was so hopeless that he might be presentable did make him crack a small smile. He cleared his throat to restore order to his brain and opened the front door.

There, as expected, was his son. But either Polyjuice Potion had been a part of the babysitting activities, or Filius and Pomona had handed Gundi off to Rolanda and Poppy.

Gundi seemed to be a handful at the moment. He was fussing. There was no doubt, even to an inexperienced father, that the boy was hungry.

"Sorry, we are late bringing him back. No one wanted to give him up," Poppy said sounding sad.

"And he won't take his bottle much," Hooch explained. "Evidently he is holding out for... well, you know, the real thing." Severus did not need the visual that Hooch provided with her cupped hands just then. And he took a stunned moment to recover.

As Poppy held the child out toward him, Snape was sure he would be scrutinized on what he did now and how he did it. He knew it was too delicious for everyone to watch the stern potions professor gingerly sweep up the child and soothe him.

"I'll tuck him in with Hermione. She's sleeping," Severus told them as he shifted the boy to his shoulder. The potions master could feel the eyebrows on his "guests" raise painfully. Apparently, his new found vocabulary was a delight as well.

Severus returned from the bedroom to find his visitors still present. "I would have thought you were too busy for babysitting, Poppy. But thank you," he then managed.

"I didn't get to see him much. Things are still busy at the infirmary. But I am taking a break. A girl has to get out," she insisted.

Severus smiled inwardly at the image of this woman who had known him for decades calling herself a girl. Being something of the typical nurse-maid, as well, she seemed intent on giving a report, he could see. "We walked him here," she continued. "I got to carry him, so I can tell you, he is quite the snuggler, Severus. Not all babies are."

"Maybe he gets that from Hermione. That's what I am thinking." Hooch said this and then, instinctively, moved a bit out of range like an oft-swatted sibling might.

"He did take a bottle earlier. Hagrid really has quite the way with him," Poppy chimed in then to draw Snape's glare away from the flying instructor.

"Hagrid," Severus repeated, numbly. The image of the flour-sack sized infant lost in Hagrid's lap, with the games keeper propping a bottle with his pinky, came forcefully to mind.

"Did _**everyone**_ get a turn with the boy then?" Severus said with mock pique.

"Almost," Poppy said quite seriously. "He napped quite contentedly for Trelawny."

"God," Severus said simply.

"A fight broke out among the house elves when Rolanda said she was going to have _**Filch**_ watch him."

"I was only kidding," Rolanda chimed in quickly.

"Well, the house elf contingent didn't think so. They were tripping over themselves to rescue the boy and alert all the **_responsible_** staff in the castle!" Poppy had not gotten over this, obviously.

"But all is fine now," Severus said, looking for blessed closure.

/ / / / / / / / / /

Severus should have expected when he answered the summons to the headmistress' quarters that it would be about his personal life rather than his professional one. Three weeks on from their night at her new cottage, he saw Hermione and the boy a rigid 2 times a week now. And this was through his design.

Certainly that was more than he had averaged during the war, he told himself. He knew Hermione was not happy with that arrangement. But how could he pretend he had given her the chance to re-establish her old life, with its old contacts, if he was hovering over her?

... ...

"Don't push, Minerva," Severus objected. He was pacing the woman's quarters as if he could physically dodge her questioning.

"Don't be an idiot," she replied, as plainly as if inviting the man to tea.

Apparently, his 'relationship' was, yet again, not meeting the old woman's expectations, because here he was on her carpet.

"A child is no reason to have a relationship. Certainly you can agree with that," Snape tried.

"God, you make me tired, Severus. A child is no reason to _**end**_ a relationship. Just try. You two worked well enough together. There is no reason to avoid her," Minerva insisted with a tired edge to her voice.

"Is that what she says? That I am _**avoiding**_ her?" he fumed.

"No. That is what _**we**_ all say. She never says anything negative about you." Minerva took a long breath and tried a different tact. "It all felt too comfortable, perhaps?"

"Comfortable?" He scoffed at her choice of words.

"Well then, tell me why you've been doling out tiny bits of attention to her and the boy on some sort of parsimonious schedule. Must you be such a selfish bastard?"

"Yes," he said irritably. "We were never supposed to actually end up together as some sort of sick family. I have things that need attending to, Minerva," he added lamely. "I can't be at her beck and call."

The falseness to his manner and his words was starting to make her blood boil. "If it wouldn't wake Alastor, I would ring the life from you. You have been in and out of Hermione's house as you damn well pleased over the last month. Sneaking about as if you are still a spy. Have you lead her down the garden path then? Sleeping with her and giving her no sense of a future?" Minerva demanded.

"I have been _**sneaking**_ about, as you put it, for HER benefit. It does her no good to still be seen as associated with me."

"Have you seen the papers, Severus?" Minerva asked then.

"On what subject," he deflected.

"Severus, you do know that a great many people are completely unforgiving of what Hermione did. They acknowledge that she was a great help to our victory, but they believe hers was such an amoral act to conceive the child under those conditions."

Severus had finally stopped pacing. He tried to manufacture a tired affect as he asked her, "What is the point you are trying to make, Woman?"

"The number of friends she can rely on has dwindled. She doesn't get out. She has not continued her studies. She would gladly see more of you."

"I doubt that. I am certain a Weasley will be along in a while to fill the void. If not one than another."

"I know it is YOU she asked to have stay with her," Minerva said raising her voice now.

There was silence in the sitting room then until Moody filled the void.

"What did he do NOW?" came Mad Eye's gruff voice from the next room.

"Oh, come on, Severus. He won't stand for being left out of the conversation, and he isn't well enough to get out of bed again today," Minerva pronounced. She walked into the bedroom and stood waiting for Severus to follow.

There, flat on his back, was Mad Eye Moody. "Prop me up would you, Min? How am I to yell at the boy properly like this?" the old Auror wanted to know.

Severus groaned.

"Ha! Tell me all about it, boy," Mad Eye kidded, knowing Severus would remain tight lipped about his private life.

"Hermione asked him to stay with her. That was last month!" Minerva chimed in as she poked at his pillows.

"Good God, I've been in this bed a month? No wonder I feel so miserable."

"Miserable? I'll tell you who is miserable," Minerva shot back, with an unconcealed smile.

"She has me right where she wants me," Mad Eye told Severus. If the old Wizard could have managed a randy wink, he would have done it, the younger man knew.

The inference made even a battle-tested Severus blanch. If Mad Eye's time in bed recouperating involved sex, he did not want to know.

"Push me over onto my side, would you, Min?" Moody said. "I'm sore. God, I'm sick of lying on my back." He was getting tired, they could tell. His words were coming slower suddenly. She crawled into the bed and began to push her husband at the shoulders, making him laugh a little as she struggled at it. "Too big and burly for you," he mused.

"It's alright. Maybe I like my men big and burly."

"Well, if any of the others show up, do give me fair warning. I'll need to defend my spot in your bed."

Sighing, Severus moved over to the other side of the bed and helped Minerva roll the man onto his side. He looked at Mad Eye's now quiet face, wondering how the old wizard could be one of the age's most feared warriors when he looked like a sleeping baby at times like this.

"How do you know you don't belong with her, when you aren't even _**with**_ her, Severus?" Mad Eye asked in a sleepy voice without bothering to open his eye. "Give it a try. At least then you'll have something interesting to say when you visit again."

Minerva closed the door to the bedroom as she and Severus walked out, and they moved quietly towards the sitting room. It reminded him of the few times he had been with Hermione since the boy had been born, and they had crept quietly away from his cot after putting him down.

"She's met again with her parents," Minerva said without preamble.

"I'm sure **_that_** went well," he said, sarcastically.

"They aren't thrilled obviously. They worry that she has complicated her life having a child so young. But she told them that she isn't unhappy. That she loves the boy..."

"My mother had me very young," he said standing at the window. "My grandparents were sure it would not work. ...And it didn't work. My father made my mother miserable. Even when he was there."

"Well, this isn't like that, Severus. Her parents are not telling her she is a fool. And they bear you no great ill will."

He looked at her surprised. _How could they not_, he wondered. They must believe he was the man who had completely derailed her life.

"She told them it was artificial insemination. She explained that you knew nothing about it. That it was her doing."

He shook his head in wonder.

"And you do not make her miserable," Minerva continued. "I think she is just miserable without you. Just visit her more often. Just tell yourself you will spend one whole weekend with them. Or I could invite her here and have you over at the same time...?" she suggested.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

The invitation came. Ostensibly, it was to celebrate Mad Eye's recovery. But Severus was a suspicious sort, especially when it came to Minerva. The old witch wanted to be able to watch Hermione and him together, no doubt.

The gathering was informal and held in the Headmistress' quarters. The Weasleys were there as was Potter, Kingsley, and much of the staff.

Hermione had wordlessly placed the child on a blanket by Severus' feet, and the boy was pulling now on his father's trouser leg.

"Oh," Rolanda remarked, from across the way. "I'll get him."

"Leave him, Rolanda. He's fine," Hermione called out firmly, but kindly.

Severus and the boy were contemplating each other. The boy's grin was toothless and open mouthed. His eyes were black and liquid like his father's. Gundi gave Severus a squeal of approval that did not fail to touch the man in some way he could not explain.

But they were interrupted by Rolanda who swooped in to grab the boy despite Hermione's protest. "Come on, kidd-o!" Hooch coo'd. "It's Uncle Alastor's party, you need to say hello."

It seemed obvious to Severus that Rolanda was rescuing the boy from him. And it was obvious that Rolanda was very familiar with the boy.

Severus saw Arthur then from across the room. Something about the man and his nervous manners alerted the spy that there was a problem. Snape eased closer, and then with two light fingers placed strategically just below the man's sternum, he had the older Wizard into the bedroom of Minerva's quarters.

"Talk, Weasley," Severus said, brusquely.

"What would you like me to say, Severus?" Came the incredibly steady reply.

"Say whatever it is that explains why you are skulking about tonight and watching me."

"Fine." He cleared his throat then. "Are you and Hermione... an... item? And what are the chances of Ron getting challenged to a duel or being tossed bloodless somewhere if he goes to visit her?"

"Hermione is her own woman. She sees who she likes..."

"But the two of you... The way she has acted in the past. It has been as if she is, well... in love with you."

"Doesn't that seem horribly unlikely?"

"I don't know," Arthur said with genuine bewilderment.

"Just as unlikely as ending up artificially impregnated by an unwilling man because of Dumbledore? Couldn't any supposed emotion on her part be seen as being just as _**contrived**_, given that Dumbledore was behind all of this?"

Severus was implying a great deal now. And Arthur narrowed his gaze at him uneasily.

Before Arthur could decide what it all meant, Severus had turned briskly on his heel and left the room.

...

It was later now and all the guests save one were gone. Severus had remained behind to talk to Minerva. "Has everyone in this castle laid claim to the boy?"

"Certainly," Minerva shot back. "And several outside the castle, I would guess, as well. Perhaps they perceive that they are filling a vacuum."

His only reply was to grind his teeth.

"What do you care, Severus?" Minerva demanded more than asked. There was a twitch of a smile on her face which she hid from him...because it would not do for him to know she was glad to see he obviously did care.

* * *

Ron had not been quite brave enough to talk with her during his short stay at Alastor's party. That had not gone unnoticed by Hermione. What had caused his unease to lessen, she didn't know, but he had Owled her a few days later. And now here he was in her living room.

"People say that Dumbledore worked it so you would think a certain way. That that was part of the, you know..." Ron said with a blush.

"Insemination," Hermione prompted, gently. "You can say it, Ron. Not such a horrible word."

"It makes it all easier to understand. I get it all now Hermione, the way you acted, the things you had to say and do. I'm sorry we were so rough on you. I didn't really understand. And I guess I still wouldn't if my father hadn't explained it to me. All of us, we would have done anything, risked anything to see the war ended. And we all trusted Professor Dumbledore so much. It must of have been very difficult..."

"Stop, Ron. Really. I don't need anyone feeling sorry for me. Not now. Not at this late date. It's all done. And I would not change it."

He did not understand that last part. He could not fathom why she would not at least regret the time she had spent in such closeness with Snape. Perhaps it was a lingering effect of the Confundus-like hold Dumbledore had put on her, he decided. But rather than dwell on it further, he moved on.

"So, I just want us all to be friends again," he said with an childlike shrug.

"That would be nice, Ron. Really," Hermione told him sincerely.

"I brought these things," Ron told her as he fished the reduced packages from the pocket of his jacket. "My mom knit some things for Gundi. And well, Ginny picked him out a bear..."

Hermione smiled and thanked him. "Come on, Ron. He's sleeping, but it's about time for him to get up. Come see him." Ron needed to see this reality, she felt. It wasn't going to be real to him until he had seen it all. Gundi was not some abstract concept. He was 11 pounds of demanding baby flesh that Ron should confront if he wanted to be a friend to her again.

They walked into the nursery and Hermione watched Ron in much the same way that Ron looked at the boy.

"Did your parents put you up to coming here, Ron?" Hermione whispered from beside him. "If you aren't comfortable with me now... with the things I've done or the way my life is now..."

"I always thought it would be easy once we were out of school," Ron said quietly, never taking his eyes from Gundi. "We'd travel. Go anywhere. All the things we never had time for before. Just do what we wanted. No responsibilities. No one telling us what to do. No worries."

"You can still do that, Ron."

"And what about you?" he wanted to know.

There was a long pause before she settled on, "I'm going to stay here for now..."

Ron was silent then with his eyes on the sleeping infant. Finally, he said, "Maybe we could do things together? Me and you. And Harry and Ginny. And the baby, too, of course. Do you think?"

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

Severus took the boy into his nursery for the first time in two weeks. He froze there a moment by the door, but then resolutely stepped in. He wouldn't wear the emotion.

These things he saw in his son's room were new. A stuffed gorilla, a pile of sweaters. A picture frame with a photo in it. It was a horrible Muggle frame, one they must have gotten at a zoo. A cartoonish elephant, a ridiculous giraffe. And the words "Best Friends." There behind the glass was the Golden Trio. _Predictable_, his bitter mind pronounced. But also in the photo was Gundi. A new part of their group, it seemed. And someone had looped a regrettable Gryffindor scarf around the lot of them.

He felt a bit undone, he was ashamed to admit, as he backed out of that room. Weakened, despite how he had prepared himself. He had THOUGHT he had prepared himself. But this evidence that she was claiming her old life and at the same time making a new one, felt horrid and sickening.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

Mad Eye found Severus slouched in his chair in front of his dungeon fireplace. "Minerva told me what to expect," the thick set man announced sadly. "Right down to the scowl and the half empty Glenfiddich. Damn it, Man," Moody said sadly. The still-recovering man leaned heavily on his staff as he made for a spot on Severus' settee. He sat down with a groan and made his pronouncement. "Two weeks you've been a useless lump."

"... When I should be over there with Hermione?" he spat sarcastically. "How can anyone imagine me there with her and a child... approximating some sort of family? How does someone like me try for something like 'constant' or 'permanent?'"

"But if she loves you... if she knows you, she will be forgiving of all the adjustment that it takes..."

"If you can't understand..." Severus growled, suddenly sounding quite sober. "If you think I have so little pride that I want her with me only because of the childish attachment she felt when we were in danger. If you think I want her to stay with me out of some sense of loyalty, or Gryffindor obligation...And what if I simply do not want to be with her and the boy? What if I am just that sort of man, Alastor? The sort who doesn't give a damn, who would rather sit here alone."

"Then you are an idiot, and the angels weep for you, you ungrateful sod... But I think you are a horrible liar where she is concerned. If the decision was really as easy as all that, then it means you wasted a good bit of Glenfiddich for nothing." The older man considered the mess in front of him: the mess that was the potions master's quarters and the mess that was the man himself. And he came to a conclusion.

"You aren't wrestling with a decision down here," Moody pronounced. "You are trying to numb yourself to the decision you have already made. You ignored her..."

"I didn't," Severus protested lamely.

"Her seeing less of you and more of the Weasley boy? Why suddenly?"

"She finds Weasley eminently more suitable now that they are reunited," Severus said before he threw back another shot of whiskey.

"No. You WILLED this to happen. You did everything but fly Ron over there on your own broom. Why, Severus?" Alastor shook his head. "Still, this change is too much. Too fast. As if it was orchestrated. How did Mr. Weasley go from coward where she and the boy were concerned to ...

"Molly, no doubt," Severus stated reasonably levelly.

"Bull shit," Mad Eye surmised, narrowing his good eye. "Damn you, Severus," the man said with pity. "What have you done? That's why you are so low. _**You**_ did this. Somehow you did this."

"Whether or not I have, I know I won't sit by to watch," he said with a sudden agitation. "I'm not half the man I thought I was. Because there is no way I am strong enough to sit by and see her end up with him. I won't interfere. But I will not be a witness to it either!"

And whether or not it broke Snape's heart to say such a thing, it staggered the poor romantic Alastor. With a heavy sigh, the old Auror levered himself to his feet and turned for the Flue.


	65. Chapter 65

_A/N: Thanks! You folks have been wonderful and patient and kind. And evidently, responsive. This story came in first place at the Deathly Hallows Awards website for "BEST HETERO." _

_Gush..._

_

* * *

_

"I'm leaving, Minerva," a momentarily-sober Severus Snape said levelly. He had presented himself in her office in front of her desk like a man being sentenced. "I took the liberty of seeing that Horace would fill in for me... for the first half a year at least."

"This is not even remotely funny, Severus," Minerva growled. "Term is starting and you are going to walk out. I want an explanation."

"No you want to talk me out of it," he assessed.

"Is this because of Hermione? I admit I've been meddlesome. Yes, I was trying to get you back together in permanent fashion. But I think leaving school is rather drastic..."

"Just deposit my back pay in my account, Minerva," he said tiredly. With a curt nod, he spun on his heel.

Severus felt a great deal of relief as he pulled the door open and walked for the hall. But there was something even more daunting to consider. How would he tell Hermione he was leaving the country?

There he had no doubt his legendary courage would fail him. Voldemort he could face. Hermione's disappointment, he could not.

/ / / / / / /

"I know why Severus wants to leave," Minerva told her husband the following morning, "Still I can't believe he'll do it." She brushed her hair through a few more strokes before beginning again. "It is obvious that Hermione's friends have forgiven her, and so he is trying to keep his distance. He acts as if he doesn't mind if Hermione ends up with someone else. And the most ridiculous thing is that her friends, at least Ronald Weasley, seem motivated by the false story that Albus manipulated her feelings at the same time that he impregnated her. That being pregnant by Severus would cause her to be _**bonded**_ to him while she carried the child. But I know that's not true. And Arthur Weasley knows better as well, and he is the one spreading the tale."

The Auror let up a very knowing sigh from the next room. "And do you know _**where**_ Arthur got that idea from, Minerva, dear?" Moody said sadly.

"No!" she fumed, as the realization dawned on her. "You are sure?"

"Yes," he said with finality. "Severus has spent half the summer drunk and the other depressed. The man doesn't know if he is coming or going. When a moment of clarity finally possessed him, he inferred to me that it would be better if people believed that Hermione had been bewitched against her will. _**And**_ I saw him hustle Arthur Weasley into this room at that shindig of yours... This is Severus' story that Arthur is peddling, not because he necessarily believes it either..."

"Then why?" Minerva pleaded as she came in from the bathroom.

"Because Severus wants him to."

"Damn that man," she said as she cursed the ceiling and brandished her hair brush. " I am going to talk some sense into him."

Her husband had seen this half of the play too often. He merely turned away to shake his head.

When Minerva Floo'd to the potions professor's quarters, she found them empty. There on the mantel was a letter.

_Minerva - _

_She'll know where I am. So, you needn't indulge any fantasy that I've thrown myself off a cliff._

_Don't let Slughorn ruin my belongings. Just box them and I'll return to remove them in due time._

_Severus_

* * *

At breakfast the next day Poppy was acting quite verklempt should anyone look up from their lives and take notice. She kept staring at the two empty chairs, Hooch's and Snape's, until she couldn't take it. She bolted for the door behind the dais, her breath heaving.

It took Minerva a second to realize the state her old friend was in. She dropped Alastor's hand and made for the door behind her.

She found Madam Pomfrey there leaning heavily against the wall. "I'm going to go, Minerva. I thought about it a lot and really, I've had enough of this place. I'm going," the Matron announced.

"Oh, Poppy."

"Don't 'oh, Poppy me.' For God sake, come out of your fairy tale fog and listen to me. It _**is**_ as bad as all that. Three meals a day watching Flitwick and Sprout suckle each other's digits? Severus has run away. But at least he has someone who loves him. Hooch has gone off to the States with that... American... jackal, wild dog person."

"'Coyote,' I think he called himself," the Headmistress corrected reflexively.

"Must you be so fucking tiresome?" Poppy screeched with a hand to her head.

"Sorry," Minerva murmured contritely.

"I don't begrudge you all for having things work out. But I might want a life of my own," Poppy told her with uncharacteristic anger and sarcasm.

"Where would you go?"

"London. St. Mungo's. I'd write a book. I would be their special lecturer in magical emergency and trauma situations. I made an inquiry and the response was very positive, actually." She said this with the sad hint in her voice of a woman not accustomed to getting praise. And Minerva heard it plainly.

"And while I'm there," Poppy continued, "I will meet people, finally. _**Grown up**_ people. And I'll find that one. I can see her. Really. I picture her. Do you understand? Not so much what she looks like, but how she will be. How my _**life**_ can be." The Matron groaned. "How many god damn years have I wasted..."

"I'll help you pack," Minerva said as she squeezed her friend's forearm.

"You'll what?" the stunned old mediwitch said.

"You want me to fight you on this? Beg you to stay? I won't. I want you here, yes. But I want you happy. Go write your book. Go be that stunning lecturer I know you'll be. I want to see you all over the Wizarding press. I want to get a call to come see you and your spectacular new flat. Your new life. Your normal friends," Minerva teased. "You've put up with us long enough. And if you meet a woman who is willing to put up with complete and utter madness, bring her back with you. When you are ready."

"Really?" Poppy replied.

"Really."

_/_

_A/N: more soon!  
_


	66. Chapter 66

_**A/N: I am sorry this has taken so long to get to you. We are creeping toward the end here, it seems. I have been delayed by germs and those odd little responsibilities in life. And by the notion that I wanted to do well by you and Severus. He (and you) deserve a reasonable, well thought out, and carefully written denouement.**_

/

Geberic kicked the undersized bed that the tall, pale man was nearly dripping from. "Get up. Drunken, stinking wizard. This is the help I am sent? This is the man my sweet Hermione pined away for? How could you possibly be the hero of the great fight? You look like shit, Wizard. God knows why I opened my door to you last night."

At last, the goblin paused to draw breath.

Severus groaned and gripped his head as if hoping to hold it together. "You let me in," the Wizard finally managed. "Because my labor is free. You would trust no one SHE had not recommended. And you wanted to get out of this little... hole." He squeezed his eyes shut again and found he was eminently happier when he pretended none of this was happening.

The goblin tottered away, no doubt swearing in his native tongue. This left Severus to contemplate his situation. It being the morning after a particularly low night, the potions master was willing to make some concessions.

The first came easily given his headache: after getting his first glimpse of the task that lay ahead of him and the quarters he would occupy, it had been unwise and ungracious to procure a bottle of vodka from a local establishment. It seemed embarrassing now that he had sat, sullen and self-pitying in the graveyard in back of the old church and drunk slowly for hours. When he'd finished indulging his melancholy last night, Severus had barely managed to drag himself in the door and through the hidden hole in the floor.

The next thought that passed through his sodden brain was less a concession than a try at accepting reality. It was late September. And so, what was left of his wizard's intellect, tried to grasp that that meant it had been a year since the insanity with Hermione had begun. A year since Albus' had first hatched his sick, life-altering plot.

With pity loosed inside of him now, more thoughts forced their way through him. An insistent, ticking clock inside this father's chest told him it had been four months since Gundi had been born, blameless, into this horrid play. The potion master's near-photographic memory showed him all of the milestones from every baby book he had ever opened. And his underused heart asked him what he thought about missing all of those events. Of being this far from him. And her.

How had it come to this, he wondered. A year ago he had stood in the Headmaster's office justifiably enraged with Dumbledore, Hermione, and even Minerva (though none of the plan had been the old witch's doing.) And now? He felt humbled, confused. Unsure. That last admission left him queasy, a lack of surety being a state he was not at all accustomed to. How was this, that his life was suddenly a series of answerless questions?

How could he ..._**miss**_ seeing Gundi_... s_omeone who had not even existed until recently? And did he really miss _**her**_... someone whom he had never, ever wanted to include in his life?

He righted himself with care until he was perched on the edge of the narrow bed. He didn't want to be here in this tight little spot in Sweden. But he couldn't have stayed another moment at Hogwarts with Hermione so near. He couldn't just walk back into another classroom in that castle as if nothing had happened. It would have been ridiculous to try. He felt for sure the change in him must be shamefully transparent. The passed year had been a tempest that had shaken him. It had robbed him, as surely as it had gifted him. And Snape (a proud and proudly private man) knew he wore the regrettable look of a man bewildered and undone.

For all his intelligence, for all the careful forethought he brought to every situation, Snape had not allowed for this present reality.

He was not suppose to have lived to suffer this. It was... wrong that he should have to cope with doing the right thing by Hermione. He was in no right mind for any continued heroics or selflessness. He found it more difficult still that he continued to exist in a society where – for her sake alone - he _**cared**_ about what was said and thought about him. And where he was almost uniformly detested.

He couldn't be with Hermione. She wanted him whole and sensible. Sober and reliable. And he was not feeling capable of any of that. How could a life time of rigid control be so suddenly gone?

Who was he in this new world? In a world absence of duty? Who was Severus Snape when not defined in terms of war and obligation. Was he anyone at all in the absence of Voldemort, Dumbledore and a fight that claimed his every day?

Hermione thought it was enough that he be merely _with_ her. That he simply return to teaching.

Of course she did. Hermione would adapt. The young were known for their resilience. With her damnable surety and her enthusiasm, she was trying to fill that void in him and in his sanity. For him. And if he let her, she _**would**_ fill it... with a house. A child. Her warmth.

Some deluded part of him wanted to picture it. Believed he could let it happen. A fool hearty, self torturing part of him would whisper, _Go back_. _Hang your clothes in her closets._ _Put your boots by her door. Sit at that table with her..._

_Every breakfast. Every night_.

_Mark your papers in her sitting room. Read the boy a story while he sits in your lap. Tuck him in._

_Take your place in her bed._

_And then, repeat._

He might be tempted to try if he could believe he was the best thing for her.

In the end, he decided it was quite simple. Despite his brain's whirring attempt to inventory further issues, it was as simple as the answer to the question: could he make her happy? Could he keep her happy? Because, God knows, he would rather not try than fail at that.

The alcohol still in his system had him burning up. He took a step to the wall, and he flattened his palms against it. He leaned in then as a shaky breath left him, and he pressed himself into the cool surface. That brought him a bit of relief, and he could claim more focus now. More control. When he considered that last week he had spent in Scotland, he knew it was good that he had left.

...

It had been a frustrated Mad Eye who had finally told him to clear off from Hogwarts that day. Severus did manage to smile to himself over that despite the throbbing in his brain. It delighted him a bit to know that Minerva would be exceedingly put out to see her hard work at matchmaking and psychoanalysis had been thwarted by her bed mate. That, right there, had been worth a solitary toast held high last night in the goblin's old church yard.

For Severus, the provoking event that had preceded the final act had been when Minerva had invited Gundi and Hermione to the castle grounds for a visit. Some delusion allowed the meddling old woman to think that that would set the brooding, seething Severus to rights. That all a happy-ever-after required was the sight of mother and child on a picnic blanket out by Hogwart's great oak.

Minerva had obviously wanted them there to elicit some sort of response from him, well, they did just that.

But likely not the response she had wanted.

He was not a trained pony. And he had no master. At least he didn't any longer, not in this amorphous, post war world.

... ... ... ...

"_Join us, Severus," the old witch announced as she closed the clasps on her picnic satchel. She motioned out her window then and told him, "We're out by the old oak."_

"_Severus and I will be out in just a bit," her husband said meaningfully from his spot near her desk. Alastor motioned then with his head to get the woman to go off without them._

_Once the two men were alone, Moody addressed the younger Wizard cautiously. "We are none of us quite right in the head, not after what we have been through these years," the old Auror tried as they stood by a window that overlooked the intended scene._

"_Yes, Mad Eye," Severus agreed with bitter sarcasm._

_Alastair was undaunted and actually smiled a touch as he continued. "But you, my boy, have vacated your brain a great deal better than the rest of us. I'm telling you that I'll not let you go out there and pick a fight, Severus. So you can just drag your great, brooding, drunken carcass back to the dungeons."_

"_To make myself presentable? Because you want me to be a good boy and clean up nice for the girl. I should spend Sundays reading the paper and bouncing the baby on my knee? To have that insipid happy ever after." _

"_Bugger that, Severus. You're so thoroughly banjaxed I doubt you know your days of the week lately. I simply want Hermione happy. And is it too much to hope that you might one day be a little closer to **sane**?" _

_The potion master groaned with relief, realizing that the old Wizard was not of Minerva's mindset. "I don't see sanity as possible here, Alastor," Severus admitted a bit weakly, his eyes on the picnic out on the lawn. "There are people who think I should just jump into something... permanent with Hermione based on whatever surreal madness we had. And then there are **twice** as many folk who would have me prosecuted for my part in it." He paused to let that dichotomy sink in. "My feelings and hers have been so thoroughly manipulated, how do I trust what I even think where she is concerned? And how does one manage **sane **when things are that far gone?" he asked rhetorically. "At the very least, for her sake, her life needs to be set back to the point **before** Dumbledore put events spinning out of control. She deserves a chance to move forward from there... on her own."_

"_In case there is someone else?" _

_The potion master nodded with more of his old decisiveness. "She was never given that simple opportunity. And if I am hovering over her..." _

_Mad Eye leaned on his stick and added thoughtfully, "I had thought that half of this ...self destruction of yours was designed to **drive** her away. That you believed it would be easier for you both if she gave up on you... so you were pushing her to it?" The big man sighed then. "There's a better way, Severus. Simpler and more honest. If I was a man who still had some things to figure out. Who still had too much fight left in him. I would take it somewhere else. You even mentioned that yourself, if you remember your own drunken ramblings. You told me that you had no desire to sit here and watch this play out. There is no shame in that, Severus. No shame at all in a man needing to get away. In having a few punches left to throw." _

"_Minerva will not thank you for your counsel."_

"_Forget what Minerva wants, this once," Mad Eye said with a crazed twinkle in his eye. "There is a lovely bit of work that need to be done. Lots of solitude. Good honest labor. Lots of time to think and get that head on straight. And no one there who knows you. No one's assumptions. No expectations. And you will be helping Hermione, but giving her that space you think she needs -all at the same time."_

The old Wizard had captured the full of Severus' attention in that moment. It took little convincing for the potion master to see the value in his being the one to go out to the mound in Sweden to fulfill that promise Hermione had made to the Goblin there.

If nothing else, Severus had to get away before he did something supremely idiotic that would be all over the Wizarding papers. And he was not the type to run off and merely sit in some cave. Going to Sweden was suddenly the best solution. A solution which would provide good work to occupy him. Space to allow Hermione to find out what she wanted from this new life.

And some time for the dark Wizard to figure out what he was now, and where and what he would be with no master.


	67. Chapter 67

Thank you for sticking with me! The comments have been wonderful and very helpful. I definitely benefit from everything you folks have to say. Kelly C made me pause and think about the repercussion of Alastor's actions. And the repercussions are not so very bad, I decided. :) Although maybe naughty.

And we are collectively dragging Severus closer to some resolution here. I had considered having someone literally beat some sense into him... and I am often channeling some of your frustrated comments when Geberic tongue lashes him.

/ / / / / / / / / /

"You are angry with me," Alastor assessed from the doorway to their bedroom.

"Now, why would I be angry?" Minerva growled from her place in bed. She smoothed the covers over herself so that they now looked as rigid and unyielding as she did.

"I confess, Minerva. I did suggest Severus leave. I did help him arrange it all. But most of all," he whispered. "I confess that I cannot stand to have you mad at me."

"Thanks to you, we have no potions professor!"

"The school is only open for the few die hard students that were willing to come. Slughorn can't extend his vacation in Crete forever! Next term..."

"That's hardly the point, Alastor!"

He sighed and silently extinguished all but the light near their bed. "It's not about a potions professor," he said finally. "You think I'm a sneaky bastard for suggesting Severus go off to work for that Goblin."

"On the very day we had planned a picnic!"

"There was no 'we.' That was just a 'you,' darling," he suggested gently and with a hint of a teasing smile.

"I was pushing them together you are saying. Being overbearing. Interfering. Heavy handed."

He laughed as he made his way over to the bed now. "It would not have occurred to me to say half of that, my love. You know I wanted Severus with Hermione and their baby. That is where he belongs, in my mind at least. But there was no point in wanting that of late. He had gotten too far gone, chasing shadows in his head."

"I may need to concede that last point," she told him.

"So, tell me it's safe to get in the bed, would you?" he asked as he inched closer.

"Safe? Yes. Your pillow is not cursed. The sheets will not strangle you. The mattress will not restrain you while I pummel you." She ticked these things off in a strangely methodical fashion.

"You considered all those things then?" he asked with a laugh.

"Briefly. Only." She answered with a quick twitch of her lips. "I see the wisdom to what you did. Severus needed to get away," she allowed. "And this way we at least know where he is."

"I am sorry it came to my having that talk with him when you had the picnic planned."

"No matter. It only spared us the worst picnic on record, I am sure. And when I got down there, Hermione only told me the same thing you tried to. Severus' thinking was getting more muddied the more he felt pressured."

"It has been forever since that man was allowed to decide what he wanted to do with his life. He might not actually be equipped to make such an emotional decision ... Yet." Alastor sat on the edge of the bed then and his wife punched at his pillow for him.

"And so, there I was trying to make it for him," Minerva said, sadly.

"Your heart was in the right place," Mad Eye told her. He let his prosthetic leg fall to the ground next to the bed.

"Oh, God. That's what Hermione told me when she basically asked that I stop meddling."

She rolled over fully to reach for her husband now as he settled himself under the covers with a grunt.

"Alastor," she said, trying to sound stern. "I think I liked this conversation better when you were apologizing and working out how to appease me."

"Appease you?" He laughed and pushed at her hair. "Would you like that then?" he whispered. "I could make it all up to you... all my bad behavior." He kissed her neck and reflexively she lifted her head to him. And purred.

"That was naughty of you to interfere," she trilled.

"Yes, Headmistress." He captured an earlobe then between his teeth in a move that seemed less than contrite. But she loved a good nibble, he knew. He'd give her a bit of it now. Make her beg for it later, he thought with a wicked smile she could feel pressed into her skin.

"You've been very bad," she teased.

"I can make up for it. Surely there is something that needs doing?"

"Something or _**someone**_ that needs doing? Is that what you are saying you delightfully crass man?"

"I'm ever so good with my hands. We could put them to use." He had run one firm hand down the outside of her thigh then before hooking her knee and pulling it to his hip.

"I'll not be manhandled, Mr. Moody."

"Aye. No hands then. Just this one delicate finger." That one finger drew a path down her throat then to the top of her night gown. "And perhaps ...the tip of my tongue?" he offered.

He took her low moan for a 'yes.'

He made a show of opening her nightgown then using only his index finger. Slowly, he lowered his head until he could lick at her breasts. She swore it took a sweet forever before he worked those circles she wanted around her nipples.

She sighed and wiggled nearer still, pulling his head in close. "More, please," she groaned. "Teeth? Oh, please, Alastor?"

He smiled. So soon? He had her begging so soon? It was good to be forgiven.

* * *

Severus and the old Goblin worked only a few hours that first day. Snape had been damnably stubborn like a man intent on owning his penance. So he had refused any potions that would have removed his self inflicted suffering. That meant it was left to Geberic to take some pity on the hung over man.

After breakfast and strong coffee, they started with a quick tour of the place. Seeing the extent of the mound and the relics was staggering to the potion master. The sight was much in keeping with the size of his hang over, he decided.

There would be days of merely cataloging, he could see that much. Geberic would need to decide what went to Gringott's, what went to a similar facility in Zurich. And what he could hand carry personally to wherever it was he was headed for his 'retirement.'

Many of the objects were protected by Goblin, Wizard or ancient magic. Some were cursed, Geberic explained. For every of the thousands of items, there could be a series of code breaking exercises they would need to employ... all of these efforts just so the items could then be magically crated and readied for pick up.

But that was fine as far as Snape was concerned. The sense that there was much to do, comforted him. He needed a purpose, and he was in no hurry.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

The oddly matched pair fell into a routine. Each morning they breakfasted quietly together, and then Geberic would lead the way down the main tunnel to the large room under the hill. The Goblin would outline the work – one pile for him to tackle. One for Severus.

They broke for lunch and frequently ate up in the church yard. There were a few more hours work in the afternoon before Geberic would call their efforts to a halt. Severus would head out for for a walk and Geberic would take a nap.

The Goblin insisted on rotating the supper cooking duties. Severus relented, but this often meant he relied on what he could find ready made in town on his walks. The lack of variety, while not as bad as he was used to after years alone, was still something that Geberic found to complain about. The small thing liked to complain, Severus quickly decided. It was something of a sport to him.

Their first several days were ones spent organizing the main hall under the hill. Then there came a week of moving the largest pieces. Nearly two more were spent on those items that were Beowulf's.

The Goblin broke the breakfast silence one morning by tossing a letter onto the table between them. A vaguely disturbed Severus looked up from his plate, recognizing the handwriting in front of him.

"_**She**_ wants to know how you are," came the Goblin's shrill complaint. "You've been here a month! Tell me you have at least written her once to let her know you arrived here safely..."

"If I hadn't arrived safely, surely someone would have..."

Geberic rolled his eyes at the man and his logic. He growled over his coffee. "Wizard," he said as if handing out the most horrid insult.

Severus allowed (to himself, not out loud to that meddling Goblin) that he could... _**should**_ manage a note. That much at least, he decided, was possible.

"_The goblin is infuriating,"_ he wrote that night at his desk. _"I have no idea how you dealt with him at all. Apparently, it was not enough that he would name my son, he would now command me through my days. _

"_There is more here to move than you saw. More than you can imagine. The room he showed you was only the beginning. And the ungrateful little cur insists we use the most arcane of magic. _

"_Do not worry about me. I am settled."_

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

Hermione committed the note to memory quickly enough. She closed her eyes and sighed horribly, wondering that she had expected to read something more in a letter from that man.

Gundi was frustrated over being ignored. He tried again to get the letter from her and this time she let him have it. She laughed then as she watched the boy explore the parchment's potential. He waved it about. Crumpled it. Chewed off a corner before Hermione finally stopped him.

"What is your father saying, Gundi?" she asked as she traded the boy a proper toy for the note. "Is it too much to hope that he complains so much about being there because he wants to be here? Is it too much to hope that he'll ever realize he belongs with us?" she asked sadly then.

* * *

A week on found Snape stooped, threading his way through the tunnels. Always he was forced to pause there at the tunnel door while he waited for Geberic to find the proper key and open the passage way. He had no doubt the Goblin purposely dawdled over his task. Because he also had no doubt Geberic had purposely chosen that out of the way bit of wall to hang his new photo.

Again this morning he found himself looking at it as he waited for Geberic. It was a wizarding picture of Hermione and the boy. And on it she had scrawled, "Gundi says 'Hello'!" which, of course, was patently absurd. The boy said nothing intelligible as far as Severus knew.

"You will go home to them soon, won't you?" The scratchy little voice broke into his reverie. "Nice. Nice looking boy," Geberic said. "Hermione has promised to bring him to see me in the summer when I am settled with my son. You should go home to them soon."

"There is a lot here to do," Severus answered. And he pressed ahead into the dark cavern.

...

They were paused in their work two days later. Geberic stood suddenly and pulled a dagger from the bench it rested on. Brandishing it like a sword, he quoted, "That she be mine if saved by my valour is my bargain."

And the Goblin waited there, while he fixed Severus plainly with a narrowed eye.

"What is it then? What are you saying?" the potions master asked, as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Oh, my erudite, Wizard friend. I thought you might know that line. Persusus used it. It was the bargain he made to claim Andromeda. A pretty little pet name that. Andromeda," Geberic said with a wink.

"Two things, Goblin. If you think me so erudite, WHY do you speak to me as if I was a complete idiot." And then sitting himself on a trunk and dusting off his hands, Severus asked more civilly. "And what is there between Hermione and myself that she has not told you?"

"Well, I hope _**that **_is not why you are lingering here. Waiting to find out those ridiculous tidbits... when you could be home... in a witch's bed."

"Lingering here?"

"The closer we get to finishing, the slower you seem to work, Wizard," the Goblin accused. "And you have refused to let me call in Bill Weasley. He would have us out of here in a matter of a week! Did you see the wedding picture he sent me? He is a man who knows what's what!"

...

Alone in his room that night, Severus did have to admit to himself that he had taken a... well, thorough pace. He had been confident when the work began that he would know what to do next by the time they were through. But he was no closer to understanding. Surety eluded him.

How could he be certain he and Hermione could manage a future together when there was so much stacked against them. Their ages. Her family. The Wizarding world as a whole. Not to mention the whole of his bitter personality that he knew was a trial to her at times.

Perhaps, once or twice in his life, he had possessed enough hope in his soul to wonder what his future could hold.

He had let go of hope and future while he worked for Dumbledore and Voldemort. Those things were painful burdens more that anything else, he hadrealized, and so he had banished them, years ago. And his life did get easier in those dark times, when he lived with little regard to whether or not he rose the next morning.

He was not that man any longer. But that did not mean he knew who he was now.

He rolled over in his bed, hoping to close out his thoughts and sleep at last. As always, the last thing to echo through his brain was the simple rhythm of her name.

/

The next day, Geberic launched into his complaints again while they sat in the living room. "How long will you hide here and wait then... hero?" The old Goblin made a whining noise. "It was a year ago that she was here, sitting in that spot. All red and blushing over you. And now I have you taking up all the room in my caves, breathing all my air, drinking all my meade."

"And fixing all your wards and countering all your curses. And emptying this mound of yours to set you free?"

"Whose penance is this?" Geberic shrieked. And then more quietly, he asked. "How long are you going to do this? Tell me what it is you are waiting for? You could have been done by now. Been home. Married her. At least ...staked a claim."

Severus groaned. "How can _**everyone**_ be more sure than I what is right?"

"You should at least claim the child," the Goblin insisted. "Economically speaking, child rights...could prove valuable."

"Duly noted," Severus said with finality. He then pointedly reached for a book from the table to open it.

The last thing the Goblin said that night as he stalked off down the hall was, "I can see that YOU are that thing that will be the most difficult to remove from this mound!"

He would not be able to manage removing the confused, ridiculous Wizard on his own, Geberic admitted to himself. But he would see it done. Geberic laughed then as he summoned paper, quill and ink to his side.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

In his bed the following night Severus wondered how long it would take. Would he find that it was time alone that would decide things. Would the weeks or months show Hermione the error of what she had professed to feel. Would absence make her faithless?

He had not stopped wanting her. But what was that but selfishness, he reasoned?

There was a pounding at his door. "There's been an owl! She sent me cookies, Snape!" Geberic was shouting through the wood that separated them. "If you want cookies, you should go back to Scotland. I told her you were eating all my food and taking up all my air, and she is very sorry for me. Sends me packages and pictures. She says Gundi knows his name now."

"Enough!" Severus protested as he pulled open the door to confront Geberic.

The small thing held up a magical photo then. "See? Here he is waving. Take it. Go on. Good night, foolish Wizard," he said as he pressed the thing into Severus' chest.

Gundi was not alone in that picture. Hermione sat with him in her lap. Her smile simple, genuine. And sure.

Surety. She managed it so easily. That did not mean she was right, he reminded himself.

Severus willed himself not to look at picture any more. He pushed it into his dresser drawer. Let his head sink into his hands.

An hour later and he still couldn't sleep. He paced and finally, he leaned his head against the cool wall of his borrowed bedroom. He pressed his palms against the rough plaster and closed his eyes. He could picture Hermione there, picture and feel the times he had molded himself to her against a wall like this. Touching her. Tasting her skin. And in those moments they had closed out the war and the world so completely. So expertly. As they worked together they had been... _**content**_ together.

Could they again? Could that be sustained? Hours were not days or years. Seeing that smile in his head, he knew she still believed it possible. Even after these months he had stayed away, she still believed.

He was the enemy he had remaining, he considered.

/

Severus woke with a start at the sound of voices. He was sure that he was dreaming, sure that it was a very, very bad dream.

Quickly dressed, he appeared in the hallway to confront what he hoped was an apparition.

Rounding the corner for the living room, Severus saw the looming reality.

"Snape," Mad Eye said, as if it was an accusation. "Have you come to your senses?"


	68. Chapter 68

**_A/N: Most importantly, thank you._**

**_This is it. The end. I started this story just as I was winding up my very first one... a very long time ago now._**

**_I wanted to write something SS/HG, but different. Hopefully, I managed that. God knows, it took me two days shy of forever._**

**_There was supposed to be this notion of a morality play in this. That just because we trust someone, we need not do everything we are asked by them. That did perhaps get lost along the way with all the sex and madness._**

**_I would not be here if you folks had not read and reviewed so kindly. More than just the sweet and supportive reviews, I also enjoyed the engaged and involved (even profanity laden) reviews that reminded me of plot threads and such. Thank you!_**

**_And thank you one more time to the lovely Selmak who endured way too many hours trying to better the madness I came up with._**

**_I am going to miss you folks horribly! Do bop over to my other fics if I forget to write another POTTER one, as I've gotten very attached to you._**

...

_Other characters: You are free to decide what happens to all the characters. Obviously. But in my mind, Poppy has a lovely time feeling special and brilliant in London. It takes her some time to adjust to being fawned over a bit. But she shuns the attention and ends up with a no-nonsense sort of woman who manages the finances at St. Mungo's. She and her new partner return to Hogwarts in a years time._

_Madam Hooch (I've decided) shows back up to Hogwarts pregnant, and while the board would deny her her job, it turns out that she and Thomas are married. It is just a rather unconventional, on again, off again sort of marriage. They've agreed that they will do best if they spend only half the year together. They know the baby is a boy. The Wizarding prophesy says so. His grandmother says so. His dreams tell him, too. And they are thinking up ways to baby proof her quarters already as they know he will be trouble (but worth it)._

_Sprout and Flitwick have both become horribly foggy brained they are so enamored with one another. Minerva is hoping they will just settle into a comfortable boring marriage and get on with it before they walk into each other's classrooms wearing the wrong robes again._

_In my rather twisted brain, Slughorn ran off to Crete with a 90 year old dowager. She then died, leaving him with a trunk full of cash and jewels. He replaced her with three 30 year olds (who do not mind sharing) and he is smiling a lot in his sleep. When he sleeps. Mineva is back at Hogwarts grinding her teeth every time she thinks about it._

_Seamus and Ellie are running an international non-profit._

_Harry's biggest problem is sneaking in to see Ginny now that she's gone back to Hogwarts. Molly is keeping tabs on him daily, of course. He is fielding offers from departments across the Wizarding governmental world, but is putting off a decision for at least 6 months._

_Ron has decided to go into medicine, but he is taking the year to get ready. He and his girlfriend (thank God he listened to his mother and went to that health career seminar or he never would have met her) are taking preparatory classes and will be in the same year at St. Mungo's._

/

Severus woke with a start at the sound of voices. He was sure that he was dreaming, sure that it was a very, very bad dream.

Quickly dressed, he appeared in the hallway to confront what he hoped was an apparition.

Rounding the corner for the living room, Severus saw the looming reality.

"Snape," Mad Eye said as if it was an accusation. "Have you come to your senses?"

"Not at all. I'm having horrible hallucinations." He made a show of rubbing at his head as if just waking up. "Even now," he purred, "I am having the most retched visions."

"Grow up, Severus." Mad Eye shot back languidly, as he lowered himself into a chair.

"Why are you here?" the potion master demanded. "Did Minerva tire of you or are you here to help?"

"I'm here to deliver a message," Alastor growled at the younger man. And he produced a letter from inside his vest.

"Reduced to the role of house owl? How far will you let Minerva push you..." Snape asked with manufactured venom.

Mad Eye only smiled harder though, knowing he had the upper hand. "Does that mean you don't want this?"

In that instance, Severus knew the letter was from Hermione, not Minerva, and that he was very likely going to have to beg to get at it.

"Sit down, Severus," Mad Eye said with an amused and kinder tone as he tucked the letter away again. "I had thought you were merely stubborn. Or an idiot. But you simply don't know what to do next? How to handle this transition. And you want to be completely sure."

There was a look in Severus' eyes that was clearly surprised that Moody understood so plainly now.

"Have you never not known what to do, Mad Eye? Must you be so damnably smug?"

The older Wizard nodded. "This is a time of adjustment for all of us," Moody assured him. The old Auror thought, perhaps, this was a Severus Snape who might be ready to listen.

"I had decided I should wait out the year. The Wizarding world's period of proper mourning after the battle," Severus said, trying to infuse his usual confidence into the words.

"A year?" The Goblin began to hyper ventilate from his spot at the edge of the room.

Alastor only shook his head in silence.

"A year from the day of the battle. Control yourself. Both of you. It is a completely sensible idea," Severus tried.

"God, I was right. You are stubborn. And an idiot," Alastor pronounced. "You tell yourself you are giving her her freedom. Because you will not be happy in that twisted brain of yours until she gives up on you. Do you think her inconstant? Faithless?"

He thought about the picture of Hermione, and he knew, "I don't doubt her... not any more."

"Yet, you still sit here? I give up! It would serve you right if I took Hermoine back to Derry where she could meet some real men. Men who knew what they wanted from life and moved at something other than a glacial pace. Because, Severus, a day more, a month, a year. It makes **_no_** difference. She loves you, and there is no one else." The man paused then. "Can you believe that?" he asked more gently.

The silence stretched on, punctuated only by the small noises the Goblin was now making in the kitchen. Geberic sent out drinks finally on a tray that moved slowly under its own power.

Snape welcomed the diversion. He pulled a cup from the tray. He drank the tea and actively tried to relax. Alastor settled back and balanced his saucer on his belly.

"I've made a commitment to Geberic, I have to finish this," Severus said at last.

"He could have been done a month ago!" came a complaining voice from the kitchen.

"Go home, Severus, and let me finish things here," Alastor offered at a whisper. But Snape only shook his head.

The men managed an oddly companionable silence until Alastor finally asked, "Do you think things between you and Hermione will fail, or only _**fear**_ they might?"

Snape blew out a breath and considered what that meant. And as he saw the difference, he realized that months before he had believed that things between him and Hermione were impossible. And that now, he worried that if begun, it would not last.

Something had changed.

Mad Eye was smiling now, as if he knew the younger Wizard's thoughts. "Oh, Saints in Heaven! Sharp as a sausage. That's you," Alastor said as if he was talking to his tea cup.

"Can life with me make her happy?" Severus said then, as if merely wondering out loud.

"Oh, lower the bar, Snape!" Alastor tried to joke. "Life with you will never be a party. Don't worry that you will disappoint her. You will. It is what men do. Learn to ask for forgiveness. There are worse things." There was a knowing pause then and a knowing smile. "Is she happier _**with**_ you or _**without**_ you? I will tell you she is miserable right now. Yes," he said in answer to the raised eyebrows. "Even with her friends back around her." Alastor sighed. "And can she make you happy? Is that the other half of it, Severus?"

"No. I tend not to worry about that." Severus shifted uncomfortably then. "But how can I be content watching the Wizarding world punish her for her choices – me chief among them?"

"You can tell those busy bodies to go bugger themselves. As I am sure Hermione would do. As she has done these passed months. Or you can leave. You could, you know. Move out to the moors. Set up a by-owl apothecary. Live as a Muggle! Hell, teach abroad." Mad Eye suggested with a grand, accompanying wave of his hand.

Severus had considered some of those things, but was still surprised to hear the barrel-chested old wizard suggest them.

"There are a thousand reasons it won't work. That's what's been keeping you here," the old Wizard said. "That's what the doubting part of you tells yourself. You're older. She has that group of clingy friends. Her parents might disapprove. There are too many reasons not to go back. If you are the **_timid_** sort," Alastor said provokingly. "But there are one or two reasons to go back to her, Severus. And they trump all the rest. Do you love her? Will you spend every day you aren't with her, wishing that you were?"

Severus looked away, clearly discomforted, and Alastor pressed his advantage.

"Yes, she's young, Severus. You think she might not know her mind? But I believe she loves you as much as anyone ever can. Can you believe that at last? Can you believe that she won't have her head turned by anyone else? She's a smart woman?" Alastor asked.

"Obviously," Severus said, glaring.

"Then let this be her decision. Let _**her**_ decide if you are the right man for her."

Snape thought of the photo again and that smile. He knew she still loved him. And only him. He did not understand it. Perhaps, he did not need to. But he could see it in her.

"How do you go from being a man who has always lived alone. Been alone. To one who shares his life, his space, with a woman?" Severus wondered aloud.

"You learn to, because when you meet that right woman, suddenly living alone seems more painful than the change you'd have to make."

Snape nodded solemnly.

"Look," Alastor began again. "I would dearly love to drop kick your ass across the church yard and confirm for you that you are not good enough for Hermione, if only because you have kept her on her own these two months. But I won't. She loves you, Severus, because you are a good and worthy man. Brave and fair, and occasionally, even bright. But you don't know when to turn off that great bleeding brain of yours for your own good. Tell me you have not been thinking this to death like some great calculation. Your ages, minus the number of times you have fought, times the fear that you feel when you think of failing. Of course you are afraid of failing, you stupid git. You love her, and you don't want to hurt her."

Mad Eye leaned forward and gripped the younger man's shirt. He shook the potion master gently. Almost playfully. Like a friend or a father might. "You are _**thinking**_ what to do. You are trying to rationally solve this like a potion you are unsure of or an arithmancy equation." There was a smile then that Severus could only frown at in confusion. Alastor gave his shirt another tug then. It was the place over his heart that the old Wizard gripped, Severus saw then.

"Where do you _**want**_ to be? Does something pull at that lion's heart of yours?" Moody asked him hoarsely. "Doesn't it hurt not to be there?" Alastor dropped his grip on the man and suddenly stood up. "Don't answer me. God, don't ruin THIS with that sour mouth of yours. Stop thinking so much, my boy, because you do know what to do. I'll see myself out."

The elder Wizard pulled the envelope from his vest pocket and dropped it in the younger man's lap.

Seeing only that letter now, Severus did not even look up to watch Mad Eye depart.

...

Once back in his room, Severus cautiously unfolded the parchment.

After the greeting, Hermione's words were quickly direct.

_Ron knows I love you. He believes it finally, despite whatever misunderstandings you encouraged before you left. You see, you rotten sod, if Professor Dumbledore had simply made me love you, I would have loved you patiently and evenly from that very first moment. But I didn't. Did I? _

_So Ron got to hear in excruciating detail how I feared you at first. How you made me so infuriated. How I childishly approached you, placing myself robotically in your bed. I explained that it was Christmas time when I first began to realize what it was I felt. _

_I told Ron how afraid I was to tell you. And how it hurt to admit you want none of it from me - because you are convinced I am insane or better off without you._

_Ron is able to believe it all now, because we've had some time together. He can see how things between him and I would never work. He's seeing someone else now, and I'm happy for him. _

_So, I am left with a strange notion at times like this... Ron can see that I love you. Ron can allow that I want a life with you. _

_And you can't._

_It has been a year since I've fallen in love with you. If anything, I feel it stronger now. It is not loneliness. Don't lie to yourself and pretend that it is. There are people enough around, if I want them. I miss **you**._

_I'll forget my pride. I'll forget how I have promised not to push you. And I'll tell you, I love you, and I want you with me. I know nothing is certain. Please, let's just try._

_Tell me you are coming back soon or Gundi and I will be out to see you. Because even if you are intent on rejecting me, we need to have a conversation, at least._

...

Rejecting her? How could she see it that way? He shook his head. He read the letter over once more, tracing the words with his fingers. He read it again and again, seeing only parts of it now as his eyes moved over it until he could feel the things she was saying.

_I love you. What I felt... How it hurt. I want a life with you. I love you. I want you with me._

_Try. Just Try, she was telling him._

The words fell on him differently now, he realized, after Alastor's chastising. For Hermione's sake, he would stop trying to solve this as a puzzle. It was, he was learning, alright, to be without an absolute answer.

It was time to trust Hermione's choice. And she had, against all odds, chosen him.

_We need to have a conversation, at least,_ she had said in closing.

_At least,_ his brain echoed with a borrowed surety.

... ... ... ... ...

"You are packed. Merciful heaven. You are packed. Good bye!" Geberic cheered.

"You're welcome," the tall wizard intoned, flatly.

"The last of the artifacts from the burrow is gone, then?"

"Yesterday, they took the last," Severus confirmed.

"Heavens, you took your time!"

"The point is," Severus said through clenched teeth, "when I get back, there will be no more excuses. I have purposely not stood between anyone and Hermione."

"Oh, no. No one but yourself," Geberic snipped, disapprovingly.

"I wasn't a man worth having a year ago. So, I have saved her a year of suffering."

"Madman! You may not have been worth having, but she is! Wizards! How can goblin-kind ever trust you with anything? When Goblins have something of value, they don't sit it out on a shelf, unprotected, inviting someone else to steal it."

"She isn't a vase, Geberic. And as best I know, no one has run off with her."

"Then you will propose?" came the eager question.

"She and I can talk," the wizard would only say.

"Talk? Timid? You? And here I thought you Perseus. Or _**she**_ did," the Goblin teased.

"Would it surprise you to know I do not fancy myself a hero, Geberic?"

"Ah. But you can not deny your child was as good as forged. Purposefully fashioned. So who might that make you? Haephestus? Hmmm? But you will not return to your forge, I think? So are you truly Perseus in the end? Have you won the maiden? Just who are you?"

"I had rather fancied myself as Severus Snape," he told the Goblin, as he fastened the last buckle on his satchel.

"Boring," mumbled Geberic.

"Indeed. But perhaps, good enough."

* * *

Hermione let him in the cottage door, by leaning out to hold it for him. She turned sideways then, so he could pass through. They moved together into her small hallway.

Facing her like that, no space between them, Severus felt he should kiss her. But it was awkward at best. Emotionally and physically.

The boy had a hold of her legs. She was off balance and laughing now as she tried to close the outer door. And soon Severus was standing even farther from her, feeling he had missed his chance.

But Hermione wouldn't let that happen. Determinedly, she looked down at the dark haired child who clung to her trousers, and with a smile she told him, "You! Off. Give me a chance to kiss your father."

The surety in the words struck Severus. The fullness of what she said left him rooted there, unable and unwilling to move. If he ever doubted who he was or what he should do, he did not doubt she could tell him.

Having declared her intent, she moved to Severus with Gundi still trailing behind her. She smoothed the man's face and looked into his eyes, and finally, finally she kissed him.

"We missed you," she told him intently, as she eased back.

"It was a long time," he managed. He allowed his hands to stay at her sides.

"The longest we've been apart," she explained unnecessarily.

"Grrrrrrrrrrr!" Gundi shouted from his spot on the floor.

"Did he just... growl at me?"

"He did," Hermione agreed.

"You've let the boy go wild," Severus said with a neutrality that may have signaled approval.

Hermione crooked her head to look at her son. "How about you go find your bear and your blankie? They're in the other room," she said to the boy gently. "We'll be out in a minute, Gund." But the boy just shook his head "No" over and over again. Hermione leaned down then, deciding a bribe was in order, "I'll bring in juice. Now go!" And in a flash, Gundi was crawling for the next room. Once there, he threw himself onto a stuffed bear twice his size. And growled quite audibly.

"How are you?" Severus asked, now that he was watching her again.

"Alright. Settled. We are settled feeling, I suppose."

She led the way to her kitchen then.

"Money?" he asked as he followed.

"We were in Dumbledore's will, as you know. And there has been no shortage of sweaters from Molly," she joked. "My parents help out. Minerva put me in for a stipend from the Wizengamot..." she sighed.

"Good."

"It isn't money I am short of Severus," she told him pointedly once she had turned to face him again.

He looked away, and she let him. _"We are fine,_ she wanted to say, _but we would be so much better if you were with us." _

"I like being a mother," Hermione assured him to fill the silence. "Especially his mother. He is a marvel. Really, so loving..."

"Yes, when he is not threatening to eat you up." Severus scoffed genially.

She stole a glance into the living room to check on the boy. "We should sit in there with him," she said Looking at Severus, she could see he was not the man he was before. Even his body language was different as he stepped to the counter and leaned against it with her to also watch Gundi through the doorway.

"Are you angry that I stayed away?" It had taken him months to see this from her side. To understand that especially with the child to take care of, she might have felt abandoned.

"Did you need to go? Was it quite necessary?"

"Yes. I..."

"Then, no, Severus. I'm not angry that you left."

The silence stretched on then, and she knew not to break it. She hoped Gundi would not as well. She waited. As patiently as she had waited the year of loving this man. She waited that little bit longer.

"Hermione..." he managed finally, low and doubting. He took the two steps to her and she wrapped her arms around him like she would never let go.

And as his head settled near her ear he whispered, "I love you." He swallowed hard and tried the unaccustomed words again. "I love you, Hermione. I'm sorry..."

"Shhh. I love you, too," she replied tightening her grasp. _"Stay,"_ she thought. _"Please, tell me you will stay."_

As they pulled back to look at each other, they pressed their palms together between them. He had one more thing to broach. One more hurtle. He looked at Gundi and then back at Hermione.

"Are you intent on staying here?"

"You mean living here, in Hogsmeade?" she asked.

He nodded.

"You don't want to teach," she surmised, as she cocked her head at him.

"Not for at least a year. We needn't work. I've money saved. I've a house. Or we could go and live on the moors. We could run an owl post apothecary." His voice seemed not his own.

"An owl post apothecary? On the moors?" she asked with a strange little laugh.

"Alastor was being flippant when he suggested it, but it is gaining a certain appeal with me. Still, I have no idea what you want. Your family and friends..."

"Can come visit me. And I can go visit them," she told him levelly.

"You would miss Hogshead? The shops?"

"I am a fairly solitary person, Severus. Not compared to you, perhaps," she mused. "But..."

"But ?" he prompted.

"Solitary," she assured him. "With the exception of needing you and Gundi with me." She laid a hand to his face as she spoke, as if to beg that that statement sink in.

He waited and nodded. He seemed to understand at last that she would define her life in those terms.

"Perhaps until I want to teach again then, we could... Here or abroad? But you will want..." His speech was uncharacteristically muddled.

"I'll want to continue my studies," she said finishing his thought.

"In?"

She laughed a bit nervously. "I don't really know. Do I have to know? "

"No."

She leaned into him then and kissed him.

"You pick somewhere hopefully not too horrible," he told her, "and we will go. So you can get your degree."

"I think I would like to do research. And write," she said sounding young and wistful.

"Research would be a natural extension of your inquisitive and tenacious nature."

"Tenacious?" she teased.

"Mmm," he said, now obviously considering their plans. "But Minerva will not thank you for depriving her of a potions professor for the foreseeable future," he joked.

"She will forgive me. ... If I tell her it's because we are getting married."

She held her breath and waited for his reaction.

"That would soften the blow. I agree." Still, his head was bowed and his expression hidden. He seemed intent on tracing her fingers and watching the way their hands worked together.

"You agree?" she asked, quickly. "To what? What are you agreeing to?"

He tried to ward it off, but a satisfied smirk worked at him.

"The world needs a happy Minerva McGonagall. And think of it... All you have to do is..."

"All I have to do?" she prompted.

"Is marry me," he said quite seriously.

"Yes. I will."


End file.
